


It's Irresistible

by TotidemVerbis



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Some Graphic Violence, Surprisingly Domestic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 102,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8206651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotidemVerbis/pseuds/TotidemVerbis
Summary: Bexley Barba is a normal person. She likes music, brightly colored everything, and assassination. Okay, maybe normal isn't the right word. Victor Zsasz is currently working for Bex and trying to figure the strange girl out, but he's starting to think it's a lost cause. She's just a person that sings off-key and murders people when the situations calls for it. Seems normal enough to him, but he's drawing a line at the unicorn figurines.Gotham is in for a duo that no one ever expected, and only one thing is for sure. It's gonna be one hell of a ride.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The story starts after the end of Season 1. Pieces of Season 2 will be included, but I'll change some things up.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own **Gotham** ; none of the characters or anything else from the universe. I do own my original characters, such as Bexley Barba, but I like to picture her as Demi Lovato. Hence the pretty picture above. I also do not own any of the images being used in the Story Banner or in the Chapter Titles. If they belong to you and you want them removed, let me know and I’ll take them down immediately. This is purely fanmade, for my own enjoyment and hopefully yours, so happy reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be violence and gore-like things throughout the story, so I'm not going to put warnings at the beginning of every chapter. This is the warning. If you see anything that is a trigger that you think should be mentioned here, please let me know.

 [](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap01_zpsrlp0ygvb.png.html)

“Where are you going?” Victor can feel a muscle ticking in his jaw as he spins on his heel to greet the first voice he’s heard today. 

“Just going out for some fresh air.” He says it with a smile as he lightly pulls on the lapels of his jacket, and he can feel his entire body thrumming with the need to just do something already. It’s been so quiet lately. The green eyes that meet his are cold and suspicious, which is to be expected. It’s not easy sitting at the top. 

“We have a job to do tonight.” The words pluck at something, but he keeps still. In those first few days, he got to help clean house. But that was _ages_ ago. 

“I’ll be back before then. If I may.” His arm is held out while he bends at the waist, just enough to show a little respect, and his new boss gives a quick dip of his chin. Victor is standing and leaving the large house before the other man can change his mind, and he takes in a slow breath once he’s standing outside. 

The text message came from an untraceable number and only contained coordinates, and there’s only one person that would contact him that way. He knows where to go and knows that it’ll take a few hours, but it’s not a summons that he wants to ignore. No, he needs to know what he wants. He left, and the terms were clear. Victor is Cobblepot’s enforcer now, but he can’t just erase nearly twelve years of loyalty. 

A few hours later, his boots disturb the dust clinging to the front steps of a condemned house set out in the middle of nowhere. Everything around him is quiet and undisturbed, but he knows that appearances mean nothing. The boards creak as he makes his way through the house, and Victor finds him sitting in the kitchen. There are two stools in front of the chipped bar, and the man sitting down with his drink looks different than the last time Victor saw him. 

“You have a tan.” He stops in the doorway and keeps his face neutral, because he doesn’t know why he’s here. Why either of them is here. 

“Retirement suits me,” Carmine Falcone says with an easy smile. 

“Does that mean you’re not coming back?” Falcone shakes his head before taking another sip, and Victor can feel the back of his neck tightening. They’re not alone. “Then why am I here?”

“How’s Oswald doing?” Victor has worked for Falcone for years; he has stood by the man’s side and did whatever was asked of him. They understood each other. Falcone was the boss. Victor was the enforcer. The world made sense. Then everything seemed to fall apart at the same time, but Victor hasn’t changed. The tenses have just changed, that’s all. Cobblepot is the boss. Victor is…Victor is the hired help. He belonged to Falcone, as strange as it sounds, but he merely works for Cobblepot. 

“He’s too young to handle the whole city on his own. Vulnerable. He’s not you. He’s not Maroni. He’s not Mooney.” Cobblepot is a whole other kind of fish, and Victor isn’t really sure where any of them stand. Not anymore.

“Are you loyal to him, Victor?” Loyalty…he’s not even sure what that means on most days. He was loyal to Falcone, but now? Now he is afloat and doing his best to find his place in this new world. In Cobblepot’s world. 

“For now.” Falcone’s lips pull in tight, like the answer displeases him, and he releases a low whistle. 

“I’m not a dog, ya know.” The voice drifts in from over his left shoulder right before a figure slips past him, and he never even heard her coming. She walks over to Falcone, does a quick twirl and jump, and lands on the empty stool. Her feet knock together on the top rung as her knees spread, and her elbows rest across her thighs so that her hands can dangle in the open space. 

“Victor, I would like you to meet Bexley Barba.” Falcone says the name easily, like he’s said it a thousand times, and the surname echoes somewhere in a forgotten memory. 

“Call me Bex.” Her eyes raise to meet his, and they’re just brown. Normal. Average. There’s something hiding behind the flat color, something that he can’t seem to put his finger on. Her hair is brown as well and twisted up on top of her head, but there’s a multitude of colors mixed in with the color there. Is he projecting?

“Why am I here?” he asks again. He doesn’t care about this girl, and he’s not here to play some game. 

“I am not returning to Gotham, but I am concerned about Oswald. Bex has agreed to be my eyes and ears, just until Oswald gets on his feet. Isn’t that right, Bex?” The girl has been looking directly at him, and Victor doesn’t like the way her eyes feel on him. Something about her eyes isn’t right. The color is too normal, neither light nor dark. Just brown.

“Yep! Go to Gotham. Help Oswald. Report. Are you going to help me, Victor?” This girl doesn’t know him and has no right to use his given name.

“What?” The question is directed at Falcone, but it’s the girl that moves. Slips off the stool and steps closer. She’s shorter than he originally thought; she has to raise her chin and bare her throat to meet his eyes. She’s maybe a couple of inches over five feet, which puts her well below his own six feet. Still, she stands in front of him with her shoulders held back and a smile on her face.

“Are. You. Going. To. Help. Me.” Her head tilts with each word, back and forth, but her eyes stay locked on his. She takes another step closer, so close that he can smell the dirt clinging to her clothes and skin. “It’s a simple question, really. I’m going to need help and someone that I can trust. I need someone on my side. Will you be my person, Victor?”

There’s a smudge of dirt clinging to her cheek, like she’s been digging with her bare hands. Her eyes are unwavering, and her gaze is too direct to be considered comfortable. The clothes she’s wearing are dirty and wrinkled, and she can’t be any older than twenty. Falcone wants to send a twenty year old girl to keep Oswald in check? Retirement must have made him delusional and soft. She’s still looking at him and waiting for an answer, and she still has dirt on her face. 

“I don’t think—” His hand had raised without conscious thought, to get rid of the smudge, but a thin point of pain stops his thumb from touching her skin. She’d moved without him noticing, and there is now a small blade separating his thumb from her skin. 

“No one touches any part of me without my permission. Sorry,” she shrugs. The knife isn’t lowered until he pulls his hand away and is quickly stored back under her clothes. The cut barely separated the skin, more of a papercut than anything else, and she’s still looking up at him. “Well? I kinda need an answer.”

“What, exactly, do you want me to do?” Her smile is wide and dimples her cheeks, and _something_ in her eyes shifts. 

“Stay with Cobblepot, do as he says, and report back to me. Keep me updated on everything in Gotham. Oh, and don’t forget that you’re with me. Mine. Not his. For the time being.” She shrugs again but keeps her smile, and Victor thinks the words over. Really thinks them over. 

“You don’t want to get rid of Cobblepot?” She leans up on her toes so that they are even closer and looks at him like she could dig down deep to read his every thought. 

“I want to help him. To help Gotham. Isn’t that what you want?” She sounds so sincere and honest; Gotham will eat her alive. 

“Not exactly.” Her eyes flicker downwards to watch his smile, the quick flash of teeth, before returning her gaze to his. 

“But you’re going to help me, right? I promise to be a good boss. A fair one.” It’s said with a little head nod as she rocks back onto her heels, and Victor raises his brows at the statement. 

“I’ve been changing bosses a lot lately, and I’m getting a little tired of being moved around.” The girl looks upset at his statement, if the downward tilt of her lips is anything to go by. She looks conflicted for just a moment and then her expression evens out. Her hands raise slowly until they are hovering in the air above his shoulders.

“May I touch you?” So polite. He nods, more out of curiosity than anything, and is surprised when her palms raise to cup his face. Her palms barely cover his cheeks and her fingers brush by his ears, and she leans up on her toes so much that her nose nearly brushes his chin. 

“I’m willing to commit to this fully, Victor. I’ll be your boss until you want to leave. I want to help Oswald, but it’ll be just you and me. You will work for me, and I will take care of you.” That look is back in her eyes, the one that he doesn’t understand and scratches under his skin. This girl thinks that she can take care of him? Like he’s some stray that wandered in off the street? “I think we’ll be able to do great things together, Victor, but it has to be together. I can’t do this on my own.”

“I’ll help you.” Her fingers spread apart the tiniest bit when she smiles, and she releases him as she steps back away from him. 

“I knew you two would get along.” Falcone is standing now with a smile on his face, and the girl has twirled around so that she’s facing the older man. The back of her white sweatshirt is covered in grass stains. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always right. Ready to go home, Victor?” She’s looking at him again, with an easy smile and dirt under her nails. Nothing about this girl makes sense, but he’ll figure her out. 

“After you.” He sweeps an arm as he bows at the waist, but he keeps his eyes on her. “Bex.”

**.xXx.**

They’ve been in her car, which has a few bags and other things in the backseat, for all of five minutes when she first speaks. She’d insisted that he drive since he knew the way, and she didn’t like driving anyway apparently. That was all said before getting inside the car. Afterwards, she looked out the window as they drove down the driveway and headed towards Gotham. Five whole minutes of silence. He should have known it wouldn’t last.

“We’re partners now, right?” The car has a bench seat, so there’s nothing separating them. It also makes it easy for her to twist sideways in the seat and face him.

“Is it a partnership if you’re the boss?” He glances over in time to see her bite her bottom lip as she thinks it over, and her fingers tap out a rhythm against her knees. 

“Fair point, but we need each other. The relationship is mutual. So, partners?” He can admit that it’s a strange situation, even for him. He’s given his allegiance to a girl that he doesn’t know because the thought of Cobblepot as his boss…chafes. 

“Partners.” He hears her hum in approval, and the car becomes quiet once again. He’s seen stranger partnerships, but he doesn’t know how this is going to work out. She seems almost too innocent for Gotham. 

“Victor?” He looks over at her but doesn’t say anything, and her head tilts as she looks back at him. “May I touch you?”

“Are you always this polite?” He can hear the denim of her jeans shuffling across the leather of the seat, but she keeps just enough distance so that they don’t touch. Not even accidentally. 

“There’s no rule against being polite, and consent is important. Especially between partners.” There’s that little head nod again. Is this girl even real? Or is this all some kind of act?

“You may touch me.” She moves like lightning and strikes before he can assess the oncoming damage. One moment she is sitting next to him, the next she has her head pillowed on his thigh and her feet hanging out the open window. He doesn’t even remember seeing her take her shoes off. “Comfortable?”

“Mmm, yeah. You don’t care if I nap, right? It’s been a long couple of days, and I’m gonna need some extra beauty sleep before taking on Gotham.” Her fingers are laced so that her hands are resting against her stomach, and the back of her head is pushing against the top of his thigh. She looks perfectly content with her eyes closed and the sun streaking across her soft features. 

“Never lie to me.” She may be the boss, but she also said that she wants them to be partners. Partners don’t lie to each other. 

“Never.” Eyes remain closed, but he believes her. There’s something honest about her tone, and he prides himself on being able to tell a lie. 

“Why are you covered in dirt?” She stretches enough to arch her back and then crosses her ankles, and she reaches up with one hand to scratch at her cheek. The one smudged with dirt. 

“Carmine still isn’t well liked, and some idiots thought they could take him out. Just like that. Carmine’s been good to me, so I took care of them. I’d just finished burying them when you got there.” Shrugging while lying down in a car can’t be comfortable, but it doesn’t stop the small movement of her shoulders. Maybe there’s more to her than he thought. 

“You can nap. I’ll wake you up when we reach Gotham.” That makes her smile, and her eyes flutter open for a moment. 

“You’re the best, Victor, you know that? The absolute best.” Her eyes close, and she seems to drop straight into sleep. Her body relaxes fully against the leather seat, and her head turns just enough so that she can nuzzle her cheek against his thigh. Such a strange girl.

**.xXx.**

What little bit of sun there is in Gotham is starting to go down when they roll into town, and the girl immediately moves into a sitting position when he taps the center of her forehead. The ball she’d had her hair pinned up in has come loose so that a few chunks brush her cheeks and the back of her neck, and a strand of dark pink hair clings to his shoulder when she twists around to get her first look at the city. What does Gotham look like to outsiders? To Victor, it’s home. The dark streets and the filth are just as familiar to him as his childhood bedroom.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers. Beautiful? That’s a first. The streets are dirty and the people are even dirtier.

“Do you have a place?” She turns in the seat so that she can look at him, he can feel her looking even if he doesn’t turn to meet her eyes, but she’s not touching him anymore. 

“Of course I have a place. I’m not gonna sleep in my car. It’d probably get stolen with me fast asleep in the backseat. I have a place, but I’m gonna have to furnish it. Ugh, I hate buying furniture.” He listens to the leather creak as she leans back against the seat, but she doesn’t pout for long. “I’ve got the address. Just a second.”

She has to lean up because she’s sitting on the bottom of her overly large sweatshirt, and a piece of paper is pulled out of the front pocket of her jeans. He takes it without comment, reads the curling script, and makes a right turn. The address is for a warehouse, converted into some business or another, in a somewhat decent part of town. As decent as Gotham gets anyway. Once they reach the place, he helps her move her bags to the top floor. The bottom floor of the warehouse has been turned into a café, but there is a back entrance that leads to the top floor. 

“I’ve got the penthouse!” She does a few twirls in the center of what looks like a kitchen, up on her toes with the other foot pointing outwards. For a warehouse, the space doesn’t look horrible. Combined kitchen and living room. A hallway that probably leads to the bedroom and bathroom. It’s clean. And bare. 

“I have to go.” He drops her bags in the middle of the floor, and she stops spinning so that she could look at him. Nearly all of her hair has fallen down now, and he watches as her smile slowly fades away. 

“Go?” She looks so…young. He’s supposed to believe that she killed and buried two people today?

“Cobblepot has a job for me tonight.” Her eyebrows draw together as she bites the inside of her lip, and then she gives a quick nod of her head and starts walking towards him. Why can’t she just dismiss him so that he can go on his way? She doesn’t stop until she’s standing right in front of him, and she even has a little bit of dirt and grass in her hair. 

“May I?” Her hands are raised, and Victor has to resist the urge to shout. Polite girls don’t live for long in Gotham. 

“You don’t have to keep asking. You always have my permission.” That earns him a head tilt, and he feels like screaming in frustration. 

“Really? You trust me that much already?” He doesn’t really see it as a form of trust. If she does something that he doesn’t like, he’ll be sure to alert her. Possibly with violence if this trend continues. She believes it’s trust though, and who is he to shatter her beliefs?

“I do.” She whoops and then jumps, and he has to react quickly to keep them from falling over. Her arms are secured around his neck so that her feet are lifted off the floor, and he keeps his grip around her back tight to keep her from falling. She pulls back enough to meet his eyes, and her wide smile looks almost comical. 

“You’ll come back after the job?” Her eyes are lighter up close, and her fingers are gently pressed against the back of his skull. 

“I’ll come back.” She uses the hold she has on him to press her forehead against his, just for a moment, and then wiggles out of his hold. She skips, literally skips, a few steps back and makes her face neutral. 

“Be careful. I’ll wait up for you.” It’s his turn to nod, quickly, and then he turns on his heel. He pauses after closing the door behind him and takes in a deep breath. That girl is going to be the death of him; he can _feel_ it. What has he gotten himself into this time?

**.xXx.**

His blood is still screaming in his veins as he walks around the back of the warehouse, and he keeps his head ducked down so that the few people leaving the café won’t see his smile. He keeps trying to push it down, but it has been a very good night. The clothes he changed into before slipping out of Cobblepot’s are simple and make sure he doesn’t stand out, but he doesn’t want to take chances. A lot of people know what he looks like, so he’s wearing a gray hoodie over a black shirt with the hood up. No one pays him any attention as he opens the door at the back of the warehouse, and he can hear music playing before he even reaches the door at the top of the stairs.

_“Well I’m five seconds closer to living six feet deep.”_

There’s a radio perched on the bar in the kitchen, and the music is turned up as loud as it can go. She’s standing out in the open space between the living room and the kitchen, with her back to him. She’s showered and changed since the last time he was here, and all of the extra color is gone from her hair. It’s just a plain dark brown now, nearly black because it’s still a little damp, and swinging halfway down her back. 

_“There’s seven steps to Heaven, but that stairway’s just too steep.”_

The shorts are of a modest length, which is a rarity here in Gotham, and are a dark purple. Like a bruise that has fully settled. Her shirt is white and the sleeves have been ripped off.

_“Oh, my, my everybody dies. But you know that I don’t want to.”_

Her arms are waving in the air and she’s on her toes, dancing off-beat and singing along in a slightly deeper voice than her speaking voice. Because of her childish ways, he’d expected her to look more childish. Her curves are soft and subtle, but there’s no mistaking that she’s a woman. 

_“You get eight long lives, boy, you gonna cry when the ninth one creeps up on ya.”_

Something is…off. Every inch of skin that he can see on her arms is covered with either dark ink or scar tissue. Her hands appear to be unharmed, but her legs haven’t been spared. He can see a scar running down the back of her left thigh and a dark mark against the back of her right thigh…are there more?

“Victor!” She’s facing him now and smiling, with the song still blasting throughout the empty space, and his eyes sweep downwards. Thick scar tissue covers the front of her left thigh, and there’s a dark tattoo that wraps completely around her right thigh. Lace and a bow. How cute. “Oh, yeah, I guess I’m a little mangled. I tried to pretty it up a little though. What do you think?”

“Accident?” She’s close to him now, but he doesn’t mind the closeness now that she’s clean. No more dirt. He can see her arms better now too. Thick jagged lines, no discernible pattern. Some from knives. A few from bullets. Fire? Weaved around the scars are dark tattoos of flowers and birds. 

“Hazards of the job, you know? I had to teach myself how to be a good killer, and I can admit that I made a few mistakes along the way. Well, maybe more than a few.” She pokes one of the burns on her left bicep and then shrugs. “Enough about me. How’d it go tonight?”

“Is there anywhere to sit?” Her face lights up at the question, and she reaches out to grab his hand. Her left hand is warm and the palm is rough, possibly scarred like other areas of her body. She pulls him down the short hallway and into the bedroom, which is empty except for a bare mattress and the bags he brought in. The window in the room is large and cracked open, and that’s where she drags him. 

“Isn’t it wonderful?” It’s almost like a balcony, but it’s made of twisting iron and creaks. There are two cushions on the thing, old and slightly molded, but she doesn’t hesitate before sitting down. Since she’s still gripping his hand, he gets pulled along. “Now, let’s hear all about it.”

He tells her everything. Talks about Detective Gordon coming to Cobblepot for help, to get reinstated. He’s still a little surprised that Gordon collected a debt for Cobblepot and even killed a man to complete the task. He didn’t think the detective had it in him. In return, he accompanied Cobblepot to Commissioner Loeb’s house and persuaded him into resigning. It was a fun night for him. 

“So, Gordon is a detective again and Sarah Essen will be running things. That’s good,” the girl says with a slow hum. At some point during his speech, she’d plastered herself to his side and curled up to get comfortable. Gotham gets cold at night. He can feel the heat of her along his ribcage since his arms are crossed over his chest, and sometimes she rubs her cheek against his arm. 

“How is that good? Gordon,” he pauses for a minute because he doesn’t like the taste of the man’s name before continuing, “doesn’t like us. Us being criminals, that is.”

“Gotham needs good men and women. There’s no fun in being bad if there’s no balance of good.” He makes a noise of disagreement in the back of his throat but doesn’t argue with her. What’s the point?

“What do we do now?” He can feel her looking up at him, can feel the way her cheek moves against the jacket he’s wearing, and he tilts his head just enough to look down at her. 

“We watch, I guess. What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing concrete.” Cobblepot had told him that he’d call if he needed Victor’s help with anything else, which means that Victor is free for the next few days at least. 

“Wanna help me buy furniture? And plates. And bowls. Maybe a shower curtain. Oh! And one of those little cups that hold toothbrushes.” Her eyes are bright as she looks up at him, and it’s unsettling. He’s not used to being around people this…bubbly. 

“You want me to go shopping with you?” He can honestly say that no one has ever asked him to go shopping before.

“Shopping alone is no fun, and this is your home too. Can we get bunk beds?”

“Absolutely not.” Her face falls at his quick answer, and she drops her cheek back to his arm. She’s looking down now and avoiding his eyes, but she hasn’t moved away. If anything, she moves even closer when she huffs in annoyance. 

“Victor!” She moves too fast, it’s abnormal. Right after yelling his name, she’s straddling him and holding his left arm up. His legs have been stretched out in front of him since sitting down, and her knees are on either side of his thighs. “You didn’t tell me you got hurt.”

“Because I didn’t.” She holds his arm up higher, to his eye-level, so he can see the dark stains spreading across the gray material. This is why he prefers black. She lets go when he reaches up, and he tugs the sleeve up past his elbow. The earliest marks are nearly pink and further up his arm; the ones from Cobblepot’s takeover are scabbed over now; the ones from tonight have yet to clot properly, and all six are bleeding sluggishly. 

“Oh. _Oh_.” He can see the shift in her eyes when understanding dawns, and her fingers are steady when they reach up to touch one of the older marks. “Mister Carmine said you had a quirk, but I didn’t know he meant this. Can I count them?”

“Go ahead.” She counts out loud, under her breath, and taps each grouping of tallies. She stops at the ones that are still bleeding but keeps counting, and she smiles across at him when she’s done. 

“Forty-four. And you make a mark for each kill?” He nods his answer and watches the way that she bites the inside of her lip. “I’ll be right back!”

The music still playing in the kitchen drifts out of the window when she slips back inside, and Victor leans his head back against the wall. She’s strange, and he never really knows what to expect with her. He’s known her for less than a day, but she keeps treating him as if they’ve known each other for years. The music swells and fades as she comes back outside, and she settles herself across his thighs again. No one else dares to get close to him, but he can feel her knees pressing against the outside of his thighs and there’s no hesitation when she grabs his hand. 

“What are you doing?” There’s a small plastic box next to them, white with a red cross on it, and she pops the lid. 

“You don’t want these to get infected, do ya? It’d be all gross. So hold still and let me clean you up.” She uses alcohol pads to clean the blood away before smearing antibiotic cream across the newest cuts, and he watches her hands as she tends to him. Once she’s satisfied with that, she pulls out a large band aid to go over the four tallies over his wrist. It’s white with rainbow colored peace signs. The next band aid, a little smaller for the two marks higher up his forearm, is bright yellow with smiley faces. “There! All better.”

“You’re insane.” The words just slip out, because she’s not real. Today has been some kind of dream. He didn’t meet with Falcone, he didn’t swear allegiance to a girl with novelty band aids, and he didn’t get to cut off that last guard’s head. 

“Right back atcha,” she says with a wide smile. He can hear the click of the first-aid kit and then she’s twisting herself around into a new position. When she finally falls still, she’s nestled in the space between his legs with her head leaned back against his chest. She grabs his arms, the left one a little more carefully, and pulls them around her. Their fingers tangle together, and he realizes that she’s completely cocooned herself in him. 

“Who are you?” She stretches her legs out along his and leans into him fully. 

“Bexley Barba, but I prefer Bex.” There’s that name again. He knows that name. 

“Where do I know that name from? Barba?” He can feel her sigh, her back expands against his stomach, but she doesn’t move in any other way. 

“My father was a defense attorney with a gambling problem. When he got in too deep, he went to Mister Carmine. Mister Carmine gave him a loan and plenty of business, but my father just got more and more in debt. Would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t so shameful. Mister Carmine did all he could to help, but everyone has their limits.”

“Don Falcone killed your father.” 

“My father didn’t really leave him a choice. My mom was pregnant with me at the time, so Mister Carmine took her in. She was his maid for the next eleven years, until…well, I’m sure you remember. The Hawthorne family tried to take over.” That is something that he does remember. He’d been seventeen and just starting out; his first job for Don Falcone had been killing the man responsible for killing Falcone’s staff. Falcone’s staff and Bex’s mother. 

“The men responsible were killed, by you, and the Hawthornes decided to lay low. Since I was only eleven, I went into the system. Bounced from foster home to foster home for five years before running away. Mister Carmine found me living on the streets when I was sixteen. He took me somewhere safe and asked what he could do to help me. There was only one thing that I wanted.”

“You killed the Hawthorne family.” It’s been seven years since the complete massacre of the Hawthorne family, but it’s something that he’ll never forget. The dedication…it takes so much dedication to kill that many people. 

“I saved the family for last. I started with known associates. Allies. Estranged family members. Distant family members. Brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, cousins. Grandchildren, children. Wife. I saved Nathan for last. You should have seen his face when he realized that he was being killed by the child of a maid. Screamed something about how her death didn’t matter; it’s easy to replace the help.”

The news ran the story for weeks. It scared people to know that even the rich and powerful could be killed in their homes, but no one really mourned for them. The Hawthornes were rich but unrefined. It makes a little more sense now. Don Falcone hadn’t seemed worried about a rival family dropping like flies, even though Victor had known that it wasn’t Falcone ordering their deaths. Maybe he was wrong about that. 

“Falcone never asked you to kill them?”

“No, he told me that I was free to do as I wished. I wanted them dead, so I killed them. I was completely unexperienced back then though, so I’ve got a few mementos.” A shiver rolls through her, and he looks down at her arms. Black ink and scar tissue. She was sixteen when she went after the Hawthornes. Some of them were probably easy to kill, but the guards were at least trained. He’s surprised that she lived long enough to finish her task. 

“You’re from Gotham.”

“I left after killing Nathan. I’ve been traveling, doing the odd job here and there. Mister Carmine called and asked for my help, and it has been so long since I’ve seen home. There really is no place like Gotham.” She’s only twenty-three, six years his junior, but her body count is probably higher than his. The family alone is probably nearly even with his current tally count. 

“I think I’ve misjudged you.” He’s been looking at her as if she’s a child, young and naïve, but she’s not. Is that what he keeps seeing in her eyes? All the death that she’s spread?

“I’ll forgive you, but you gotta remember that appearances are deceiving. Happy people can be killers too.” She moves so that her cheek brushes his chest and her eyes can meet his, and this time he really looks back. She’s smiling, and there’s something in her eyes. Yes, she’s happy. She’s also killed an entire extended mob family. 

“Happy people can be killers too,” he repeats. Her smile widens to dimple her cheeks, and she twists around so that she can lay against him. His arms are still wrapped around her, but she’s curled up between his legs now with her fingers lightly gripping the front of his shirt. 

“That’s the spirit,” she whispers. Her eyes are closed, and she looks so content. She’s warm and soft against him, and her breathing is slow and even. It’s like she can fall asleep at any moment. A few moments later, she is asleep. He should wake her up, or at least carry her inside, but he tightens his arms instead. She makes a quiet little sound in the back of her throat and nuzzles against him, and he decides they can stay here a little longer. 

“Such a strange girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been in a bit of a writing rut lately, and a friend talked me into watching Gotham. I am a Batman fan but more of a Marvel girl, so I wasn't expecting to get any writing inspiration. Surprise! There's no guarantee that I'll keep writing, but if someone likes it...who knows?
> 
> The song used is _Last Damn Night_ by Elle King. It's an amazing song, so you should listen to it.


	2. Chapter 2

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap02_zps54s73jms.gif.html)

**Seven Years Ago**

_“Was it worth it, Bexley?”_

 _The muscles running along her spine tense, and the tightening pull moves up to her shoulder blades and makes her jaw creak. Every last inch of her is in some kind of pain or another, throbbing or burning. Blood from her scalp is blinding her left eye, and she reaches up to wipe it away with her forearm. The marks on her back pull and scream at the movement, but she doesn’t make a sound._

_She chose this house to squat in to patch herself up for a reason. The place is so condemned that even the crackheads won’t come near it, but he found her. He always finds her. There’s a part of her that’s aching to turn around and snarl at him, like a wild animal, but she doesn’t. The human side of her is ashamed. Her body is riddled with wounds, some healing and some fresh. The left side of her head has been shaved because some asshole ripped most of her hair out on that side. Bloody bandages and unwound thread litters the space around her._

_“I’m not finished.”_

_His shoes are going to get dirty from walking across the filth on the floor, but that’s not enough to stop him. Her body seizes up a little more with each step that he makes, and she’s curled into a ball by the time he reaches her. Her knees are pressed against the wall, and her forehead is pressed tight against bone and wallpaper. How does she look to him now? Did she look worse than this when he found her on the street? Wearing rags and one more day of starvation away from selling herself?_

_“You have destroyed him, Bexley. Anyone that he has ever depended on is dead. His three daughters and two sons, dead. How many grandchildren?”_

_Grandchildren…no one was spared. Some were older; the oldest was a sophomore in college. The youngest couldn’t even crawl. Only three of the five children had blessed Nathan Hawthorne with grandchildren._

_“Six. Ages ranged from two months to twenty.”_

_“You even killed his wife and mistress.”_

_“I’m not finished,” she repeats. Forty-two family members are dead, by her own hands, but it isn’t enough. Not yet._

_The air pushes against her bare back when he kneels behind her, and she can feel warm hands smoothing down the tense line of her arms. He’s trying to turn her around. She could resist. Fight. She won’t. She owes him everything, so she lets him turn her around. She can’t quite meet his eyes though. Instead she looks at his chin and wonders what he thinks of her. Was she worth saving from the streets?_

_“What have they done to you?” Her body will never be the same. She took on trained killers without any plans or finesse. The only reason she’s alive is because she has rage on her side; it’s like her body refuses to give up until her task is done._

_“The mistress had a lot of guards. The last one tried to carve my heart out.” The lunatic said something about putting it in a nice stew, and she used a table leg to cave his skull in. Not before he left some deep grooves in her flesh though. X marks the spot._

_“You need to rest.”_

_“I’m not finished.”_

_She finally raises her eyes, and his blue eyes look so sad. It’s the same look he had when he pulled up at the curb she was standing on; he should have left her there. When he reaches out, she holds still and lets his hand rest against her cheek. His fingers brush against the shaved part of her head, and she fights down a shiver. That’ll just make her ache more._

_“When you’re done, rest. You’ve earned it, Bexley. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”_

_“I took away his family.” Her mother was nothing more than a maid, and she didn’t deserve to die. Drivers and gardeners. The cook had been six months pregnant. No one that died that day deserved it. If Hawthorne can give the order to kill everyone, so can she._

_“You are not alone, Bexley. You never have been.” She knows that he cares about her, in his own way. He cared for her mother, and he wants to do right by her. She also knows that she’s doing him a favor by taking out a rival family._

_“I know. I’ll rest as soon as I’m finished.” They stand up at the same time, and she squares her shoulders. He might be taller than her, more powerful, but she trusts him. The jacket he drapes over her shoulders is warm and soft, and she holds it against her bare skin._

_“Take care, Bexley.”_

_“You got it, Mister Carmine.”_

**.xXx.**

Sunlight is streaking through the windows when she wakes up, because she doesn’t have curtains. She doesn’t really have anything, except for some clothes and an old radio. Her back pops as she sits up on the lumpy mattress, and she scrubs a hand through her hair. She didn’t fall asleep inside; she fell asleep outside. More specifically, she fell asleep on Victor. Oops. Huh, it looks like he left his jacket behind too. She shrugs and pushes her arms through the sleeves, and she takes a moment to just think things over.

Mister Carmine wants her here, back in Gotham, with Victor. She knows that he was the one that killed the man responsible for killing her mother, and Mister Carmine’s other employees. She’s kept tabs on his killing career since then, and it’s impressive. She’s impressed. Still doesn’t explain why Mister Carmine wants her here, in Gotham. She left the city right after killing Hawthorne and never really planned on coming back; Gotham is her home, but what’s a home when you’re all alone? The balance of power is a little chaotic though. Falcone, Maroni, Mooney…all of the big bosses are gone. There’s just Cobblepot now. Mister Carmine got her all caught up, so she knows that he has the brains to run things. Running Gotham takes more than brains though. You gotta be ruthless. 

Victor doesn’t think she’s ruthless. She’s not really sure why it bothers her that he thinks she’s…childish. Yes, childish. When he looks at her, there’s something in his dark eyes that reminds her of an adult putting up with a child. There was a guard in Mister Carmine’s house that used to look at her like that whenever she asked him if he wanted to color with her. Where is it written that cold-blooded killers have to be all dark and depressing? She can kill with the best of them and dance in her socks if she wants to. She’ll just have to show Victor that she’s good at what she does; she just also happens to be a happy person, thank you very much. 

The sound of a window breaking echoes throughout the empty space, and Bexley moves to her feet with a small eye roll. Isn’t it too early for breaking and entering? That’s more of a nighttime activity. Her bare feet are quiet as she walks down the short hallway, and she stops right as the hallway opens into the kitchen. Four men are standing in front of the bar, where her radio is still sitting, and they didn’t even bother to hide their faces. 

“Probably should have waited until I furnished the place before trying to rob it, ya know?” She reaches up to gather her hair into a ball as they all turned to face her, and their faces practically light up at the sight of her. People are always underestimating her. 

“You here all alone?” one of them asks. 

“All by my lonesome,” she smiles. She’s got a feeling that today is going to be a good day.

**.xXx.**

Victor pauses at the door leading inside of the warehouse and can just make out the music coming from inside. When he left, Bexley was curled up on the bare mattress in the bedroom with only his jacket as a blanket. He had a few things to tend to, and it took a little longer than expected. It’s only around nine; there’s still plenty of time for them to go…shopping. The whole concept is still foreign, but it might help him understand her a little better.

_“We’re hell raisin’ and we don’t need savin’ ‘cause there’s no salvation for a bad girl.”_

The kitchen is covered in red. Puddles on the floor. Streaks across the ceiling. On the cabinets. The bar. Even the radio has a little bit of blood and hair stuck to it. The first body is right in front of him, like he tried to run for the door. The second body is slumped against the bar. The third is halfway inside the refrigerator. The fourth body is being held up by Bex. 

_“We’re rock bottom but there ain’t no stoppin’ ‘cause they don’t know nothin’ about love.”_

Bex is looking right into the fourth man’s eyes with her hands locked around his throat, and the man is weakly pulling on her wrists. Going by the weird angle, he’d guess that the man’s right arm is broken. The veins in his face are darkening and pulsing, and Victor watches as Bex slowly smiles while tightening her grip. 

_“We’re hell raisin’ and we don’t need savin’ ‘cause there’s no salvation for a bad boy.”_

He steps around the first body and crouches down next to where the fourth man is kneeling, and he can feel her eyes on him. The man’s eyes dart over to him, but Victor just smiles at his panicked gaze and watches as the blood vessels in his eyes pop. Now that he’s closer, he can tell that the man’s fingers have been broken too. All ten. Bex releases one of her hands, and the look in her eyes when he looks up at her is unmistakable. He reaches up so that they can both cut off the man’s airway, and the only sounds in the empty warehouse for the next few minutes is the man’s desperate gasps for air. 

_“We’re rock bottom but there ain’t no stopping ‘cause it’s you and me against the world.”_

The radio must be broken, because it’s replaying the same song over and over. The fourth body falls to the floor, and Victor easily moves to stand straight again. Bex tilts her face up to look at him, and he really looks at her this time. She’s covered in blood and still wearing the same thing as last night, but she pulled on his jacket. She doesn’t look hurt despite the rest of the violence evident.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” His eyes flick over to the rest of the bodies, and Bex bites the inside of her lip as she looks around. 

“They broke in.” She points towards the living room by jerking her thumb over her shoulder, and he sees the glass littered across the bare floor. “I told them they should have waited for me to furnish the place, but they didn’t leave. Breaking and entering is rude but forgivable. Whatever they were planning, it wasn’t going to be easy to forgive.”

“So you killed them?” It looks like the second man was bludgeoned to death with the radio, and the third body had his head slammed between the refrigerator door and refrigerator itself. He’s not so sure about the first body. 

“No one touches me without permission.” The fourth man had all ten fingers broken. She killed four men, all at least twice her size, and doesn’t even have a scratch on her. “Sorry about your jacket.”

“We’ll buy a new one today.” She stops pulling at the blood stained fabric to look at him, and he watches the way that her cheek twitches. It looks like she’s fighting a smile. 

“You’ll go shopping with me?” She bounces a little as she rocks up onto her toes, back and forth, and Victor looks at the carnage in the room. It’s not even noon yet and four men are dead. That deserves some kind of reward. 

“I’ll go shopping.” She gives a loud whoop of joy before running off, but she slides to a stop in the entrance to the hallway. 

“What about the bodies?” 

“I know someone that can take care of it.” 

“I’ll go get cleaned up!” He listens to the sound of her feet running across the ground, and a moment later the pipes start creaking. Showering, right. There’s a little bit of blood on his right hand, from where his fingers overlapped Bex’s on the fourth man’s throat, and he walks over to the sink while making a quick call. His hand is clean by the time the call is over, and he looks around the room. 

Bex can’t stay here. This place is impossible to defend properly, and she needs to be kept somewhere secure. It’s not that she can’t take care of herself, the dead bodies in the room prove that she’s more than capable, but she needs to focus on the big targets. Not a bunch of lowlifes doing a morning break-in. The solution comes to him a moment later, and he’s still talking on the phone when Bex waltzes back into the room. She bangs her fist against the radio a few times to get the song to change, and he watches her sway as she waits for him to finish. 

_“Can you feel, can you feel my heart?”_

It’s not something she should be able to dance to, but she is. He ends the call but keeps quiet so that he can take a moment to observe. She looks so normal and carefree; the long-sleeved shirt she’s wearing is a dark purple, her jeans are a light gray, and the old shoes are a faded yellow. Her hair is free and swaying down her back, and she’s being careful not to step in the drying pools of blood. It looks like he still has a lot to learn about her. 

“You’re moving.” She spins on her toes to face him, and her head tilts to the side as she looks at him. 

“I am?”

“You are. Go get your stuff.” Her smile is quick and shows a flash of teeth, and she moves so fast that he barely has time to lock his body in place before she jumps. He locks his arms around her back and feels the strength in the thighs wrapped around his ribcage. Her palms smooth across his cheeks, and her eyes really do look brighter up close. A lighter shade than the average color he first thought.

“Am I moving someplace fancy?” Bexley is the daughter of a maid; she might have spent time in Falcone’s home, but she’s still the daughter of the help. 

“It’s shiny.” Her squeal nearly deafens him, and she wraps her arms tighter around him for a moment before wiggling free and disappearing. Once she is completely out of sight, he moves over to the bar and picks up the radio. He turns the music off and then uses the second man’s jacket to wipe off the blood clinging to the durable plastic. 

“Ready!” Bex is weighed down with bags when he looks over, but she’s still smiling. Of course she is. He leads the way down the stairs and to the car, and Bex tosses him the keys after she pushes all of her belongings into the backseat. The car is idling when she slips into the passenger side, and she scoots over until she’s plastered to his side. “So, tell me about this new home of mine.”

“The man that lived there was loyal to Maroni. When Cobblepot took over, he proved to be stubborn.” He drives past the early working girls and listens to the way that Bex hums low in her throat. 

“You didn’t kill him in the house, did you? That’s bad karma.” She rubs her temple against the top of his shoulder before finally falling still, and he looks down at her. Her hands are clasped in her lap, and he can see the scrapes and bruises on her knuckles. 

“On the patio.”

“That’s better than inside, I guess. You know the owner?” He’d slit the man’s throat with his hot breakfast still on the table, and the manager even thanked him afterwards. Turns out he hadn’t been a very good tenant. Complained about everything, threatened other tenants, and liked roughing up the street girls he brought home.

“He owes me a favor.” Those were the manager’s words; Victor didn’t even have to cut him a little first. Bex is quiet as they ride through town, but he can feel the way she twitches every time they pass an apartment building. When the car finally comes to a stop, he feels her stop breathing. Big brown eyes are staring up at the building, which is just as shiny as he promised even in the dim light of Gotham, and he feels her blindly reaching for his hand. He offers it up out of curiosity, and she presses his palm tight against her smile. After a moment, she laces her fingers through his and twists around to smile at him. 

“You did this for me?” He cashed in a favor that he never even asked for, and he doesn’t mind using it for her. If they are really going to work together, she needs to be kept safe. Yes, she has no problem with killing and seems to be quite good at it, but why take chances? This is Gotham and the chances are never good here. 

“All for you. Can we go now? We have a full day ahead of us.” She hums a little before leaning forward to brush her cheek against his, like a parody of a hug, and then the passenger door opens. 

“Mister Zsasz? The apartment is ready for you.” The man leaning down to look at them is in his mid-forties, with gray mixed into his light brown hair, and completely average looking. Victor only tolerates him because he’s good at doing what he’s told. 

“Have her things taken up. We’ll park the car.” All it takes is one snap to get four attendants rushing forward, and the backseat is emptied in a minute. Once the doors are closed, Victor puts the car back in drive and heads towards the garage. 

“This place is huge! And there was a doorman! What floor am I on?” Bex is practically vibrating next to him, and he reaches out to place a hand on her bouncing knee. He feels the heat of her through the denim and expects her to pull a knife on him again, but she just slumps over onto him and sighs. “I trust you too. Partners and all. What floor?”

“The twentieth, at the top.” If he’s guessing correctly, the fourth man tried to touch her and had all his fingers broken. She’s barely known him for twenty-four hours but trusts him? 

“Like the tippy top?” He doesn’t dignify that with a response. He just parks the car and leads a bouncing Bex over to the elevator. She uses both hands to latch onto his arm on the ride up, and the manager is waiting for them inside. 

“Hello, Mister Zsasz, Miss…?”

“Bexley! Wow, this place is really somethin’,” Bex says as her eyes move around the room. From where they’re standing, they can see the kitchen and living room. Sleek modern appliances and dark colors. The living room is done in shades of brown, and a large couch dominates the space. “No TV though. We’ll have to fix that.”

“Ah, yes, we’ve been refurnishing. We have the bedroom on this floor and the guest bedroom upstairs all set up, but we haven’t had a chance to refurnish the master bedroom upstairs. If you like—”

“We’ll take care of that. We’re going shopping today.” The manager glances over at Victor, and he raises a brow at the man. He might not actually have eyebrows, but it gets the point across. 

“Yes, of course. Just have it delivered here, and I will make sure that it gets set up.”

“That’s really awesome of you. How about we do a walk-through and figure out where I want everything to go. That way there’s no mistakes, you know?” The man looks panicked when Bex loops her arm through his and tugs on him to get him moving, and Victor watches them make their way over to the staircase. There’s two bedrooms upstairs, along with two bathrooms, but the main patio is off of the kitchen on this level. 

The sun rarely shines in Gotham and today is no exception. Despite the overcast weather, it’s a little warm outside and the few plants dotting the patio are thriving. Victor puts in another call, to have someone come wire the place up with security alarms and surveillance, and he sits down at the small table as he talks. The table and chairs have been replaced, but he’s pretty sure this is the same place where he killed the previous owner. The call is quick and to the point, so he is just overlooking the city when Bex comes outside to join him. Hands land on his shoulders and curl around, and he can hear her humming. 

“I figured out all the placements. The second bedroom upstairs is furnished but still bare. Want to set it up as your room?” Her voice is quieter than usual, so he tips his head back to look at her. She’s looking straight ahead, but her eyes look unfocused. 

“I’ll have to show up at Cobblepot’s so he doesn’t get suspicious.” If he stays gone for days at a time, Cobblepot will start getting paranoid. 

“It’s still set up as a guest room, just in case. We need to start canvassing too.” He’s not sure if he’s ever seen her go this long without a hint of a smile. Even while bandaging him last night, there was a small curl to her lips. 

“Canvassing?” She hasn’t looked at him either, even though he’s turned around in the chair now so that he can look up at her. She just moves her hands around so that she can keep holding onto his shoulders. 

“There’s been a lot of changes lately, and some people don’t do well with change. We need to make sure no one’s planning anything against Oswald. You’re probably easy to recognize though, so I might have to do that part on my own.” Her own? She wants to charge into Gotham’s criminal underground without him? “It’s nothing against you, Victor. Everyone knows who you are, and who you work for now. I’m a nobody.”

“You’re Bexley Barba. You _destroyed_ the Hawthorne family.” Her hands tighten so that her fingers dig into the tops of his shoulders, and she still hasn’t looked down at him. 

“I’ll go out tonight and listen to the whispers. You think I can find something slutty that still covers me up?” Her eyes seem to focus for a moment, a brief flash of something that he doesn’t have time to identify, and she loosens her hold without letting go completely. 

“You shouldn’t go out alone.” There. That’s what he’s been waiting for. Her eyes finally meet his, but they’re darker than he’s used to. Not the shade, that’s the same, but the _look_ is darker.

“Would you kill for me, Victor? Not because I asked you to, but because you wanted to?” Hands smooth across his shoulders to rest against the sides of his neck, and he thinks about the look on her face as she strangled the last thief. She’d looked so happy. Now her lips are in a straight line and her eyes are too dark. 

“Yes.” They’re partners, and no one messes with his partner. She reaches up to pat his cheek with her left hand and looks out over the patio as her hands return to his shoulders. 

“The plants are so pretty, aren’t they? I’ve got a black thumb; I killed a cactus once. Do you think they’d send someone up to take care of them for me?” She’s smiling when she looks back down at him, and she looks more like herself now. Or is the other Bex, the one with dark eyes, the real one?

“I’m sure something can be arranged. Are you ready to go now?”

“Yep! You gotta change first though. Maybe a different jacket and a hat? Keep the shoulder holster. You never know when we might need it, and it’s kinda hot. Oh! How about a tie?” 

“Such a strange girl.”

“Fair enough. Let’s go!”

**.xXx.**

“No one needs a TV that big.” The flat screen is taller than Bex is.

“But it’ll look perfect over the fireplace. C’mon, Victor, I already compromised on the curtains. And the toothbrush holders. And the bookcase. And the sheets.” Everything she originally picked out was covered in rainbows, and Victor swore he’d never enter the house if that’s what she went with. One rainbow curtain he could allow, but the whole house? The toothbrush holder she wanted had been a unicorn figurine. He’s sure by the time she found the Care-Bear bookcase that she was just messing with him. 

“Get the giant TV, but I’ll have to cancel the stereo system.” At that, she pauses from pouting and narrows her eyes as she looks up at him. 

“Stereo system?” 

“I called an acquaintance to set up a security system, and he’s going to add in a stereo system. Speakers in every room of the house. Remote controlled. No limit on how many songs are stored.” Bex taps her foot as she thinks it over, and she finally gives a firm nod of her head. 

“Fine. I’ll go for the smaller TV, but it’s still going in the living room. And I’m getting the skeleton lamp.” He hates that lamp. It’s a skeleton standing on what looks like dirt, for the base, and the bulb screws into the top of the skull. He’s not really sure why he dislikes it so much, but he does. “Ooh, that doesn’t look like good news.”

"That's them nutjobs that broke outta Arkham. Been all over the news today.” The man is wearing a light blue shirt with the store’s logo on it, and Bex looks up at the employee with big concerned eyes. 

“What happened?” The man seems almost entranced, and he rubs at his chin for a moment before answering. 

“Dropped a bunch of people off the top of the Gotham Gazette. See?” He points back at the TV that’s playing the news, and Victor takes in the line of bodies. MANIAX! 

“That’s terrible! Isn’t it, Victor?” She made him wear a hat and an old black hoodie hidden at the bottom of one of her bags, but she’s okay with using his name?

“Horrific,” he drawls. Bex slowly nods her head and then smiles up at the employee still hovering near her. 

“So, can I get one of those delivered?”

**.xXx.**

“Doesn’t it look so much better?” They’re standing in the living room, and the only new thing is the TV hanging over the fireplace. After leaving the appliance store, they went to a few clothing stores. Bex bought so many clothes that it took both of them to carry the bags, and she held up her promise of buying him a new jacket. It’s a nice jacket. Nicer than the one that got covered in blood.

“I still think it’s too big.”

“A little extravagance never hurt anyone. Let’s go look upstairs!” The guest bedroom is fully furnished, with a bed and dresser, and done in shades of blue. Bex just peeks her head in before bouncing across the hall and into the master bedroom. Her bedroom. They drop all of the clothing bags on the dark purple blanket, and Victor shakes his head. 

“Too big.” The bed is king-sized, but there’s still plenty of walking room. There’s a dresser and the bookcase, a normal dark wooden bookcase with no bears on it. There’s a connecting bathroom, which is where Bex goes next to make sure that her bathroom accessories are put up. Victor moves to stand in the doorway of the walk-in closet and waits for Bex to join him. 

“Ooh, that looks super high-tech.” At the back of the closet, several monitors were put up to show a full view of the entire apartment building. It’s also where the main stereo is that hooks up to the rest of the apartment. 

“You’re welcome.” She loops her arms around one of his and nuzzles against his arm for a moment. 

“Thank you, Victor. Now, I need to put everything up and get ready. I’ve got a long night ahead of me.” He watches her spin away from him and walk over to the pile of bags on the bed, and he turns around so that he can face her. 

“You shouldn’t go out alone.” She’s separating the clothes and folding them, even though they should probably be hung up in the closet. 

“I’m a big girl and can take care of myself. I’m not even going after any big fish. Just going to listen.” One bag down.

“Where are you going?” She looks over her shoulder to smile at him, and he doesn’t like that smile. It promises trouble. 

“If I tell you, you’ll follow me. We can’t have that.” She makes a quiet tsking sound and then returns to her task. 

“I thought we were partners?”

“Thought I was the boss?” She turns around to look at him, head on, and he stands up straight. 

“Are you giving me an order?” Her arms cross as her chin rises, and he can see how tense she is. 

“It’s a request. Let me do this.” 

“If anything happens—”

“—you can go on a killing spree.” Their eyes stay locked, until Victor looks down. He hears Bex cheer so he looks back up, just in time to see her charging him. Her arms wrap tight around his back as he rocks onto his heels, but he manages to keep from falling over. 

“Try to stay out of trouble tonight,” he says once she pulls back enough to look at him. 

“No promises.” She winks at him before skipping back to the bed, and he pulls off the borrowed hat and hoodie. His jacket is hanging in the closet, and he quickly slips it back on. “Leaving already?”

“I’ve got a few errands of my own.” 

“Be careful out there. I hear there’s some maniacs on the loose.” He can still hear her laughing at her own joke when he slips out the door a minute later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The MANIAX! mentions are from the second episode of season two. I'll be using scenes from the show, but I'll always credit them.
> 
> The songs used are _Problem_ by Natalia Kills and _Can You Feel My Heart_ by Bring Me The Horizon.


	3. Chapter 3

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap03%202_zps4qte5fhm.jpg.html)

The nightclub is dark, lights placed strategically and dim, which makes it easy for him to watch his target. Bex asked him not to follow her, so Victor didn’t follow her. He has his own errands to run. Eric Mason owes Cobblepot money, for what Victor really doesn’t care, but he’s here instead of paying up. In about a minute, Eric Mason and the girl he’s talking to will disappear into one of the back rooms. Ten to fifteen minutes after that, Eric Mason will slip out the back door into the alleyway behind the building. That’s where Victor will catch up to him. For now, he’s going to enjoy his drink and hope that it’s strong enough to make him forget this stench in his nose.

“Oh, Joey, you’re so bad!” The voice is high-pitched, girlish, and followed by a drunken giggle. Joey Solomon, the owner of The Empire, must be auditioning a new girl. Victor would pity her, but the girls come to Joey. Not the other way around. 

“First pro I’ve ever seen all covered up. Surprised Joe took ‘er,” the bartender mutters. He must’ve seen the look on Victor’s face when the girl’s laugh echoed throughout the space. 

Covered up? The girls here just have a few pieces of strategically placed fabric. Victor turns around on the stool and seeks out the source of that annoying laugh. In one of the corner booths, Joey is sitting with a woman placed firmly in his lap. The woman’s back is to him, so all he can see is pale blonde hair and dark blue fabric. She really is all covered up. There’s a few rips in the fabric along her arms and ribs, but she’s mostly completely covered. Definitely not the norm. Joey looks up and catches Victor’s eye, so Victor just smiles and raises his glass. Joey knows better than to try and kick him out; Joey pays his dues to Penguin, just like everyone else in town. 

“Another.” Victor keeps his eyes on the back booth as his drink is poured, and he’s just raising it to his lips when Joey leans forward to whisper in the girl’s ear. That ear-piercing laugh shoots through the room again, and the girl flaps a hand at Joey’s chest. The owner says a few more words, and the girl slowly gets to her feet. She’s naturally short, but the heels she’s wearing make her look like a skyscraper. The dark dress hugs her curves, and Victor watches as she slowly turns to face him. 

_Bexley._

Even from this distance, he can see the fire in her eyes. Joey gives her a quick slap on the ass, and she turns to look down at him. Her arm lifts, to blow Joey a kiss, and she slowly starts walking towards him. He can barely recognize her. Her hair is blonde instead of brown, and longer, so that it nearly reaches her hips. He can’t see any evidence of scars or tattoos through the rips in her dress, and the scars on the bottom halves of her legs have been hidden somehow. Makeup? Even the way she walks is different. Normally she walks like she doesn’t have a care in the world, or she’s skipping. Now she’s walking with a purpose.

She easily moves between his splayed legs and drapes her arms loosely around his shoulders. The height of her heels puts them at eye-level, and her chest pushes against his as she leans forward. She smells like cheap whiskey and cherries, like any other common working girl, and her red lips brush the shell of his ear as she leans in. 

“Ol’ Joe wants me to take you in the back. Says you make his customers uncomfortable. Is that true?” Her nose brushes his cheek when she pulls back, and she winks over his shoulder at the bartender. Victor listens to the man walk away and then meets her eyes. 

“Just here to have a drink.” Her eyes flash, he can see the dark shift behind the average color, and one hand drifts over his shoulder and down his chest. 

“Wouldn’t you rather have a drink with me?” Her hand lands on his thigh, too high up to be anywhere near proper, and he looks past her to see Joey watching them. If he turns her away, it could blow her cover. Also, he wants to talk to the real her. Not the girl she’s pretending to be. He turns his head to the side to finish his drink and then grabs the hand still holding onto his thigh. She giggles, a high-pitched sound that makes him want to take a drill to his eardrums, as he pulls her towards the back. They’re both quiet as they walk through the back hallways, and Victor pulls her into an empty room. 

“This is your big plan?” Bex seems to shake herself a little before she smiles at him, and that’s the Bex he knows. 

“Joey’s one of the strongest people in the city now; he’s got a solid business and plenty of people to back him up. And he’s got dirt on everybody, so he could get all the big names in his pocket. He needed to be checked out.” She sits down on the bed and crosses her legs, and her skirt moves up to show more of her thighs. He can’t see the scar on her left leg or the tattoo that wraps around her right one. 

“So you dressed up as a hooker?” She looks down at herself and shrugs. 

“Nobody pays attention to the working girls, unless they want something from them. I’ve been at Joey’s side most of the night, with a clueless look on my face and giggling whenever he says something that he thinks is funny. Did I sound really bad?” He moves over to sit down next to her, and she drops her head onto his shoulder. 

“Your laugh had me contemplating suicide.” She lightly punches his arm, without moving away from him, and sighs. “What did you find out?”

“We’re gonna have to kill Joey Solomon.” Simple statement. 

“Are we?” She sits up and turns to look at him, and he’s not sure if he likes her all painted up. She’s easier to read when her face is bare. 

“You might as well help me now that you’re here. You didn’t follow me, did you?”

“I have my own business to attend to, but it can wait.” Her eyes light up at that, and she quickly moves to her feet. 

“Okay, so, here’s the plan…”

**.xXx.**

As luck would have it, he runs into Eric Mason as soon as he steps out of the room. He’d been in the room across the hall, and the man’s eyes widen when he realizes who‘s standing across from him. He feels Bex slip past him as Eric takes off running, and he bares his teeth at Bex before chasing after him. He catches up with Eric in record time, and the man shakes with fear as he hands over the money he owes. Victor was hoping he wouldn’t hand it over so easily, so he could rough him up a little. Eric trips his way down the alley, and Victor moves back into the building.

_“The danger is, I’m dangerous, and I might just tear you apart.”_

There’s a stage placed in the back of the room, and there’s a single light highlighting the lone figure standing dead center. Joey’s whole focus is on Bex as she moves to the song, but Victor’s never seen her dance like this. Her body is moving slowly, perfectly timed to the beat, and she hasn’t looked away from Joey. 

_“I’m gonna catch ya, I’m gonna get ya, get ya. Oh, ah, oh.”_

Her hair, which he now knows is a very convincing wig, is disheveled just enough to make it look like she’s been up to no good. Her words, not his. She gracefully slips off the stage but keeps her body moving in time to the pulsing beat, and Victor watches as Joey sits up a little straighter in his seat. 

_“This is a bad town, for such a pretty face. This is a bad town, for such a pretty face.”_

That one line keeps repeating as she lowers herself into Joey’s lap, and her dress moves up as her body continues to move. Joey looks up at her like he’s starving; Victor can see the way the man’s hands shake as they smooth up Bex’s legs. She grabs his hands before they can get too far, before he can feel the scar that she has covered up. 

_“I wanna taste the way that you bleed, oh. You’re my kill of the…night.”_

The room claps as the song ends, and he sees Bex whisper in Joey’s ear before standing up. The man says something to the others at the table, which makes them all laugh, and Bex giggles along. Bex’s hands move over Joey’s chest and arms as they walk away, and Victor waits a few moments before following after them. He sees Bex pull him into a room, and he waits outside for his cue. 

Ten minutes later, the door opens and Bex sticks her head out. Her hair is mussed, her lipstick is smudged, and her eyes are wide. She grabs his arm and pulls him into the room, and Victor takes a moment to take in the scene. Joey is tied to the bed with the sheets, wrists to the headboard and feet to the posts at the foot of the bed. His tie is stuffed in his mouth, which is smudged red. His shirt is ripped open, but his pants are still on. Victor looks over at Bex, who shrugs at him. 

“Say what you want, but it’s effective.”

“If you say so.” She raises a brow at him and then moves over to the side of the bed. She kneels next to Joey’s side, and Joey’s panicked eyes keep glancing between them. 

“Alright, Joe, you remember Victor? You said some not-nice things about him. I think you should apologize.” Whatever Joey says is muffled by the fabric in his mouth, but Bex smiles anyway. “Good job, Joe! Now, it’s time to talk business. I want you listen very carefully so that when I take that tie out, you can give me some honest answers. If you don’t, Victor’s going to take his pound of flesh. Literally.”

“Um phrmse.” It is still muffled but gets the point across, and Victor crosses his arms as he waits for Bex to ask her questions. 

“Now, we both know that you don’t have the balls to go after Penguin on your own. Someone is backing you, and I want to know who. Tell me the truth the first time, and you might make it through the night. Ready?” Joey nods his head, and Bex roughly pulls the tie out of his mouth. Joey takes a few seconds to breathe and lick his lips, and he looks up at Bex.

“You’ll pay for this, you little bi—” Bex backhands him so hard that Victor sees blood splatter the wall next to them, and she grabs Joey’s chin to make him face her again. 

“We don’t have time for clichés. I really want a shower, so that I can scrub away the feeling of your filthy hands. If you don’t want to tell me right now, that’s fine. I’ll let Victor play for a little while and then ask you again later. It’s completely up to you.”

“Completely up to you,” Victor echoes when Joey looks up at him. The man seems to really think his options over, and he spits out a wad of blood before looking up at Bex. 

“His name is Gavin Hawthorne.” Bex goes completely still; Victor can see the tension taking root in her legs, and her hand snaps out to grab Joey’s face. 

“Not possible. All the Hawthornes are dead.” Her voice comes out in a purr, and one of her nails digs deep enough into Joey’s cheek to draw blood. 

“Whoever took out the Hawthorne family missed one.”

“Current wife. Ex-wife. Mistress. Five children. Six grandchildren. I killed them all.” Victor watches as Joey lets that little revelation sink in, but Bex doesn’t give him a lot of time to process. “What did I miss?”

“He divorced his first wife, and the third wife was killed. The second wife.”

“She died in a car accident, years ago.” 

“Falcone had her killed. She was pregnant. All the records show that the baby died with her.” Bex is nearly shaking; her limbs twitch at random intervals, and she’s biting the inside of her lip. She lets go of Joey’s face and sits back on her heels.

“Where is he?” Joey smiles, wide enough to show bloodstained teeth, and looks Bex up and down. 

“Let me go.” Bex presses her hands flat against his chest and pushes herself into the air, so that she’s straddling his stomach and has her hands locked around his throat. Her spine curves as she leans over Joey’s face, and her voice is sickly sweet when she next speaks. 

“You don’t get to bargain tonight, Joey. For planning to go against Penguin, I was just going to rough you up a little. Cripple you, maybe. Make you see the light but pull you back before you could walk into it. Now? Well, now, everything’s changed, hasn’t it? My entire reputation has been built on total annihilation, and you just told me that I missed one.”

“If you want the last Hawthorne, you need me alive,” Joey hisses.

“If there’s another Hawthorne out there, he’ll find me.” Bex lifts herself up and places both feet back on the ground, and Victor can’t read the look in her dark eyes. She stops next to him but keeps her back to Joey. Her hand reaches up to grab his shoulder, and she leans up to whisper in his ear. “Kill him slowly. See if he squeals.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” That gets a smile out of her, briefly, and she squeezes his shoulder before walking away. He listens to the door close and then smiles at the man still tied to the bed. 

“Looks like it’s just you and me.” The thick walls and loud music cover up the sound of screams, and Victor gets to work.

**.xXx.**

The elevator ride up to the top floor, to Bex, feels like moving through mud. He feels heavy and light, like he can sink into the floor or disappear into nothing. It’s the best kind of feeling. The kind of feeling that only comes after he’s taken his time taking someone apart. He spent an hour with Joey Solomon; he would’ve stayed a little longer, but he wants to see Bex. He barely knows her, but that doesn’t really matter. They _work_ together, better than he thought, and he respects her. Even if she does have a horrible taste in lamps.

“Oh, Victor, look at you. You’re filthy. Go get in the shower. I’ll grab you some clean clothes.” She’s sitting in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal, and she looks like herself again. At least, he thinks she does. She’s wrapped up in a yellow bathrobe with a matching towel on top of her head, but her face is bare. “Quit starin’ and go get in the shower! You look like an extra in a horror movie.”

“Yes, boss.” He hears her laughing as he leaves the room, a loud and carefree sound. Not high-pitched and irritating enough to make him want to rip out her esophagus. 

The mirror in the bathroom still has a little steam clinging to it, but the rest of the bathroom looks spotless. He drops his bloodied clothes into a corner and pulls back the polka dot shower curtain. The shower is hot, and he watches the little streams of dark pink wash down the drain. There are two sponges hanging on little hooks; one is dark purple and the other is black. The purple one smells like coconut and vanilla, so he grabs the black sponge to get rid of the day’s dirt. He’s going to smell like Bex, but it’s something that he can live with. 

“Water pressure is amazing, huh? Best I’ve ever had.” Victor sticks a hand out of the shower curtain once the water is turned off, and Bex tosses him a towel. Black. 

“Is everything you bought me black?” It was hard to keep track of everything that Bex threw into the carts while they were shopping, but he knows that she picked things up for him. He protested, but she said she was free to do whatever she wanted with her own money. 

“Most of it. I couldn’t find a black toothbrush, so I got you a red one. Mine’s—”

“Purple?” He pulls back the curtain once he’s sure the towel is secure around his waist, and Bex smiles at him from her seat on the sink counter. She’s still wearing her bathrobe, but her wet hair is free around her shoulders. Such a dark brown that it looks black while it’s wet. 

“Good guess!” Her feet are hanging by the cabinet, bare heels lightly banging against it, and there’s a neatly folded pile of clothes sitting next to her. His other clothes, the bloodstained ones, are missing. 

“Are you here for a show?” He’s not shy or modest, never has been, but he feels like he should give her a warning before the towel drops. 

“Don’t be crass.” She turns around, so that she’s facing the wall with her back to him. It looks like she even has her hands pressed over her eyes. “Did he tell you anything important?”

“He didn’t know where Gavin Hawthorne is. Just that he wants to take over, and he wants to find the person responsible for killing his family.” Black sweatpants, black tee shirt. Next to the sink, there’s a yellow toothbrush holder with blue flowers holding one purple and one red toothbrush. 

“I’m sure he won’t be too hard to find. The Hawthornes were not known for their patience,” Bex huffs. 

“Should I tell Cobblepot there’s a new player in town?” He moves to stand in the open doorway, and Bex lets her hands fall so that she can see him. 

“No. Hawthorne is my problem. I’ll make sure he doesn’t get anywhere near Oswald.” She says things so simply, like she’s declaring an oath. Making a promise. “Follow me!”

She slips off the edge of the counter, grabs his hand, and starts pulling him all through the house. Through the bedroom, down the hallway, down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out onto the patio. He takes a seat at the small table, but he doesn’t get to see what she has set out. As soon as he’s sitting, she moves to sit in his lap. She starts to smile at him but stops, and he’s never seen someone pause mid-smile before. She looks down and bites the inside of her lip, and she moves her hands into her own lap. 

“All the touching is weird, huh? I think I forgot what it’s like to be a normal person. The only touch I’ve allowed since I was sixteen came from people trying to kill me and when I used my body to lure people into a false sense of security so I could kill them. Jumping on you and laying on you isn’t normal, is it?”

She’s starving for touch and affection; he figured that out not even a full hour after meeting her. After figuring out who she is and what she’s done, he’s not surprised at all. Orphan. Assassin. At sixteen, she went on a killing spree that nearly tore her apart. The scars might be smooth now, but he knows that they carry an ache deep inside. He likes his personal space, but he doesn’t mind her presence. She skips too much and likes to sing off-key, but she’s not afraid to get her hands dirty and finish a job. She’s the boss. He belongs to her. 

He must have taken too long to think it over, because she starts to move. He reaches out to stop her, and his hand meets warm skin instead of that obnoxiously colored bathrobe. Top of her left thigh. Thick scar tissue, ridged despite the passing of time. A burn that healed badly. It spans the width on top of her thigh and is nearly as long as his palm; his fingers are spaced apart, so that his pinky finger is brushing soft skin under the scarred flesh. Bex freezes on top of him, and he tightens his grip. 

“Is anything about us normal?” Her smile is a little shaky as she places her hand on top of his, and maybe he’s a little touch starved too. No one wants to get close enough to touch a monster. 

“I guess not. Thank you, Victor.” She’s unsettled, probably from the news about Hawthorne. They’ll have to deal with him, sooner rather than later. “Did you have time to make a mark?” 

“Not yet.” The answer slips out before he’s fully processed the question, and Bex twists around in his lap to reach the table. He moves to the side to get a look and sees the first-aid kit she pulled out last night. There’s the usual things that you expect to find in a first-aid kit, bandages and alcohol pads, but the knife that Bex pulls out isn’t part of the usual. 

“May I?” He always makes his own tally; it’s part of his own personalized ritual. The people that know about it don’t ask about it, and he can’t picture anyone else ever daring to ask him to let them be the one to do the honors. 

His throat feels tight and his skin is too hot. He nods his head and feels cool fingers running along his left arm. Bex laces her fingers through his and raises his arm, and her brows draw together in concentration. They both stop breathing when the knife touches against his skin, and he watches the way that the still healing four cuts split as the now fifth line cuts through them. The pain is secondary; his main focus is on the way Bex cradles his arm and the way her eyes widen as a line of blood streaks across his skin. She keeps his arm held straight out as she turns to get the alcohol pads and a Band-Aid, and he stays still as she works. It’s another one with multi-colored peace signs. 

“Why?” It’s the only word he can really get out, because he’s still confused about what just happened. Bex closes the kit, the quiet snapping sound is loud to his current over sensitive hearing, and turns back around to face him. 

“I asked you to take care of Joey, and you did. For me. I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” She did. When he mentioned that he was tired of changing bosses, she promised to commit fully and to take care of him. He thought she was joking, or possibly insane, but she meant what she said. His hands raise up to cup her face, gently like she’ll break if he uses too much pressure, and her hair is still wet. He pulls her face down until her forehead presses tight against his, and she smells so clean. Coconut and vanilla. 

“Thank you, Bex.” He’s not going to say it out loud, but he’s committing fully. To her. 

“C’mon, let’s go to bed. It’s been a really long day.” He moves one arm under her knees and swiftly moves to his feet, and Bex gasps before laughing. She manages to snag the first-aid kit before he can walk away, and she drops her head onto his chest as he walks inside. 

She started the day by killing four men, furnished an entire penthouse suite, seduced one of the more powerful criminals in Gotham, and got his loyalty. Yes, it’s been a very long day. Bex tosses the kit onto her dresser, and she seems to burrow into her blankets after he sets her on the bed. The size of it is still ridiculous. No one needs a king-sized bed. He pulls the blanket up to her chin, and it gets a smile out of her just like he thought it would. Once she is completely tucked in, he turns around and walks back to the door. He turns the light off and starts to leave, but something makes him stop. She doesn’t call out his name or make any other kind of noise, but he can hear her crying out just the same. It was the look in her eyes, when she tried to move off of him. 

“Move over.” She scoots over without a word, and he’ll bet his favorite knife that she’s smiling right now. He’s always slept on his back, so it doesn’t take him long to lay down and pull the blankets over himself. He waits a moment and then feels her searching hands. She pats him down, to see how he is lying, and then moves over to his side. She’s still wearing the fluffy bathrobe, and her drying hair brushes against his chin. One arm reached across him to the bedside table, and music fills the room a moment later. Classical. Soft. 

“G’night.”

“Goodnight.”

**.xXx.**

“—found dead. No one knows what happened.” The hand holding the phone tightens, enough to make the plastic creak, but Gavin Hawthorne quickly gets himself under control.

“Natural?” The pause over the line makes him grit his teeth; he doesn’t like waiting for his answers. 

“Not natural, sir. It, uh, it looks like…”

“Like. What.” With every passing second, it feels like fire is moving through his veins. He never should have hired that idiot, even if he is from Gotham and knows the area better than any of Gavin’s own men. 

“Like someone tore him apart. And, uh, there’s a message. For you. Looks like Joey wrote it right before he died. In blood. In his own blood.” The guy sounds like he’s headed for a nervous breakdown. Is this his first crime scene?

“What is it?” 

“Zsasz. It just says Zsasz.” He knows that name. He’s one of Falcone’s enforcers. If Galvin isn’t mistaken, Zsasz is the one that killed Nathan’s hired man after Nathan’s failed attempt to take over from Falcone. 

“I’ll be there soon. Get a house ready for me.”

“Sir, no offense, but Victor Zsasz ain’t like normal people.” Definitely panicking. 

“Oh? Then what is he?” He meets his wife’s eyes across the room and nods his head; they’ll be leaving for Gotham immediately. She turns around and leaves the room, and Gavin waits for the man to spit out whatever it is he has to say. 

“A monster. He’s not a man, he’s a monster.” 

“Then I’ll hunt him down like one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a little shorter than the first two, but I finally have a plan! Most of a plan. Pieces of a plan are coming together. I’d love to know people’s thoughts on how this is going!
> 
> Song used: _Kill of the Night_ by Gin Wigmore.


	4. Chapter 4

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap4_zpsrgcazyyb.jpg.html)

**Nineteen Years Ago**

_“What are you doing under there, Bexley?” Brown hair brushes the floor as the little girl sticks her head out from under the bed, and she smiles up at the older woman._

 _“I’m hiding from Mister Carmine,” she whispers._

_“Why are you hiding from him?” The woman’s dark brown eyes look worried, but the little girl just giggles._

_“We’re playing a game, Mama!” The worried look is replaced with relief, quickly followed by apprehension._

_“I told you not to bother Mister Carmine, Bexley. He’s a very busy man, and he doesn’t have time to play games.”_

_“She’s not a bother, are you, Bexley?” Carmine Falcone is standing in the doorway to one of the guest bedrooms, and Rosalyn Barba brushes off her knees as she stands up._

_“I’m so sorry, Mister Falcone. I—” Carmine raises his hand, effectively cutting her off, and Bex watches the two grown-ups from her hiding spot under the bed._

_“She does not bother me, Rosalyn. It’s nice having a child in the house. Come here, Bexley.” The little girl wiggles out from under the bed and skips over to the man’s side, and the small four year old smiles as a large hand ruffles her already wild hair. “Children are precious, innocent. Your daughter is always welcome here, Rosalyn, and she will be safe.”_

_“You do too much for us, Mister Falcone.” The woman’s eyes shine with unshed tears, and Bex lightly pokes the man’s knee._

_“You’ll never find me this time!”_

**.xXx.**

Victor wakes up to the sound of a screaming alarm and the pungent smell of fire, which wouldn’t be uncommon if he is sleeping in a gutter. He’s in a penthouse, in a king-sized bed, but Bex is gone. Victor slips out of the bed and quickly makes his way downstairs, and a cloud of smoke blocks his view of the kitchen. He can hear light coughing, but there isn’t any fire as far as he can tell. He walks over to the patio doors and opens them both, and the smoke slowly starts to thin. Bex is standing next to the stove and there is a carton of eggs on the counter next to her elbow.

“Explain.” She reaches up to ruffle her hair, which looks like it hasn’t been touched by a brush in years, and there is a small burned spot on the arm of her ridiculously colored robe.

“I was gonna make us a real breakfast, but I, uh, I’m not the best at cooking? I don’t even know what caught fire first,” she shrugs. 

“Go get cleaned up. I’ll take care of it.” She slinks out of the kitchen like a whipped dog, and Victor slowly makes his way over to the stove. Cleaning up the mess doesn’t take long, and he looks to see what’s left. Some eggs, bread, sausage. He can make a small breakfast out of that. 

By the time Bex returns, everything is done and the patio table is set. Eggs, toast, sausage, and orange juice. Bex’s eyes widen when she sees the food, and Victor braces himself when he sees her tense. Arms lock around his middle a moment later, and he reaches up to lightly pat the top of her head. They sit next to each other, with Bex’s feet in Victor’s lap, and eat breakfast as the weak sun starts to rise over Gotham. Bex hums as she eats, and Victor isn’t sure how she manages to not choke as she shovels food into her mouth. 

“Why are you up so early? More plans?” The sun is just now starting to crest over the tallest buildings, and Bex looks like she hardly slept. 

“I had a weird dream.”

“Nightmare?” It wouldn’t be uncommon for her to have one after learning that she failed in her first ever hit. Not that he considers it a failure; she did kill a lot of people, so what’s one missing son that no one even knew about? They’ll get him, in time.

“Not to start with. Wanna know a secret?” Her smile looks secretive, and she curls her toes against the inside of his thigh. He nods his answer since he’s just taken a bite of toast and sausage. “I used to play hide-n-seek with Mister Carmine when I was little. Can you imagine that? Terrifying mob boss playing hide-n-seek with a four year old. He’s really good at coloring too.” 

"Anything is possible," he says after a beat. His former boss used to color with his new boss; that fact should make him unsettled, but he has the strangest feeling that today is going to be a good day. 

“That’s the spirit!” She says it with a laugh, a carefree sound, and toes wiggle against his inner thigh. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that she was an innocent. Just a normal girl with no worries. He’s seen beyond that part of her though; he’s watched her take a life.

“Plans?” he asks again. He’s still in the dark sweatpants and tee shirt from last night, and Bex is finally out of that bright yellow robe. She’s still in her pajamas, unless she’s planning on taking to the streets in her too short white shorts and purple tank top. He’s not sure if he’s ever seen this much of her skin, so many marks…scars and ink. He’s not sure how she’s alive, judging by all of the scars carved into her skin. 

“Nothing pressing, at the moment. I’m sure news of Joey’s death has reached Gavin by now, so I imagine it won’t be long before the last Hawthorne heads this way. Don’t worry, I’ll be ready for him. I’ve gotten much better at killing since those first few days,” she says with a wink in his direction. She knows that he’s been looking at her bare skin, so he decides to take another sweeping look. Burns, uneven lines from blades, gouges from bullets…She has to be better, or she’ll die. 

“Our plan today is to do nothing?” That’s something he isn’t expecting. He doesn’t like inaction. 

“My plan today is to do nothing. Well, maybe some grocery shopping. I should have specified my cereal choices. You, on the other hand, should probably go back to Penguin. We can’t let him get suspicious.” She sighs at the end and then washes everything down with the last of her orange juice. “You should probably go get ready. I’ll take care of the dishes.”

“Without setting anything on fire?” She rolls her eyes but smiles at him, and he rests a hand on top of her wild hair before walking off. She did buy some clothes for him during their shopping spree, his usual clothes, and he runs surprisingly gentle fingers over the fine fabric. She takes care of him like a pet but looks at him like she needs him. It’s…strange. 

Bex is in the kitchen when he’s completely dressed, weapons and all, and he pauses at the bar to watch her. There’s a dishwasher on her right, but she’s hand washing the few dishes anyway. She’s humming along to the music playing over the speakers, hips lightly swaying, and there’s water staining the front of her tank top and dripping down over the counter. Parts of her hair are flattened and other parts are curled up wildly. There’s soap suds clinging to her cheek, like she reached up to scratch her nose. She must have felt him looking at her, or maybe she heard him walk in, because she turns her head to look at him. There’s a faint trace of a smile on her lips, and it’s nothing like her usual bright smiles. 

“I’m gonna miss you today. Weird, huh? We’ve known each other all of forty-eight hours, and I’m already gonna miss you. Why do you think that is?” She bends down to rub her cheek against her shoulder, getting rid of the soap, and he doesn’t know the answer. 

“Maybe it’s my charm.” Her laugh is too loud in the open space and causes her head to arch back, and he watches the way that the veins in her neck throb as she laughs. 

“Yes, that has to be it. Now come here and give us a goodbye kiss,” she says with an expectant look. His surprise must show on his face, because she adds, “My hands are soapy and that jacket is expensive. So give me a forehead kiss and get out of here.”

“You always this bossy this early in the morning?” he asks while walking towards her. Her lips quirk up into a smile as he stops in front of her, and she still has her arms buried halfway in dishwater. 

“Maybe,” she answers in a sing-song voice. She leans up on her toes, because there is a bit of a height difference between them, and he’s not used to this. No one has asked this of him before. He can feel her body pressing against his, is surprised that someone that feels so soft can cause so much destruction, and lightly touches his lips to her forehead. He listens to her hum, something completely different from the upbeat music playing in the apartment, and she tilts up just a little bit more for the extra pressure before rocking back onto her heels. 

“I’ll try to come back tonight,” he says after pulling away. He can still feel her against him, can smell the coconut and vanilla that clings to her, and she’s warm. Warmth and softness in a city that is filled with cold and sharp edges. 

“Promises, promises. Now, go.” She pushes her forehead against the center of his chest, and he reaches up to ruffle her hair before taking a full step back. She’s smiling again when she looks up, and he takes a moment to commit the way that her cheeks stretch and her eyes shine to memory. 

He takes the elevator down to the garage, glances over at Bex’s shiny car, and slips out onto the street behind the apartment building. He keeps to alleys and backways, where it won’t matter if he’s spotted. No one will dare to cross him here, not in the shadows, because they all know who he is. What he is. The lowlifes on this side of Gotham are too scared to even whisper his name most days, and none of them will meet his eyes. It’s all for the better. Bexley is right. He can’t spend too much time dodging Penguin, or the newest crime boss will get suspicious. Suspicious is something he can’t have right now. He wants to help Bex take down the last Hawthorne; the kill will be hers, but he’ll help in any way he can. 

“Victor!” He pauses just inside the doorway and feels his jaw clench. He has his own room in Penguin’s palace, which is just on the edge of the darkest parts of the city, but he was hoping that the home’s owner wouldn’t notice him coming in. 

“Sir?” The word feels heavy on his tongue, but this is him showing respect. Trying to show respect. Calling Bex “boss” feels almost natural, but calling Penguin any kind of superior term feels wrong. 

“Where have you been?” Penguin is standing at the very long table, pouring himself a drink, but he’s looking over his shoulder at Victor now. Isn’t it too early to be drinking?

“Out.” He works for Penguin; he’s not obligated to tell the other man every single movement he makes. Penguin ambles over to him, drink left forgotten on the table, and doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of Victor. 

“Out?” Penguin looks skeptical, and Victor watches as he breathes in deep. “Coconut…and a little vanilla. I have to say, Victor, I’m a little surprised.”

“I retrieved Eric Mason’s payment.” He pulls the envelopment out of his jacket, his new jacket, and places it in Penguin’s hand. He looks at the envelope, Victor, and then at the envelope one last time. 

“Thank you, Victor. You’re dismissed, for now.” He nods, just a quick dip of his chin, and turns on his heel. He’s in his room in record time, and he takes a moment to breathe in deep and exhale slowly through his nose. His fists are clenched at his sides, enough to make his arms strain, before slowly straightening his fingers out. He raises his hands and lifts his jacket to his nose to take a quick sniff. Coconut and vanilla.

**.xXx.**

“I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts,” Bex is singing when something knocks into the back of her shoulder. She catches a glance of blonde hair and a bloody face, and it looks like the guy is apologizing with his pretty blue eyes as he runs past. Normally, Bex would take offense at someone knocking into her so abruptly like that. She’ll give Detective Gordon a pass.

She looks down at her grocery bags, notes that nothing has fallen out, and continues her singing. She can hear sirens screaming in the distance, and gunshots had echoed in the air not too long ago. She’d like to investigate, to see why there are so many shots being fired inside of the police station, but it’s none of her business. Her job this time is to stay under the radar, her job is to always stay under the radar, so she is staying away from that clusterfuck. 

The old woman in the elevator at her new apartment building glares at her, more specifically at her humming, but Bex ignores her. She likes humming, it keeps her happy and calm, and her hands are starting to go numb from carrying all the bags. The old lady gets off the elevator first, because Bex has the penthouse, and Bex shuffles around so that she can wave goodbye to her. A minute later, she’s back in her apartment. Her big and empty apartment. The remote for the radio system is on the kitchen bar, right where she left it, and she turns on something soft.

Groceries are put away quickly, and she sighs as she looks around. There’s nothing left for her to do, not today. She can go back out canvassing tomorrow night, see if there’s any chatter about a new player coming into town, but that’s tomorrow night. She doesn’t mind doing nothing, but she’s not doing nothing. She’s waiting. She hates waiting. The tight jeans are replaced with a pair of baggy shorts, she keeps the sweatshirt on, and she walks back to the living room in bare feet. She turns down the music as she collapses onto the couch and turns on the TV, and she pushes a pillow under her head as she starts flicking through channels. 

And so the waiting begins.

**.xXx.**

“People like that are the reason why creating order is such a pain,” Penguin grumbles to himself. There’s a redhead on the TV, that’s sitting at the end of the table, and he’s just helped kill a sizable amount of Gotham’s police force. Including the new commissioner. Victor is slumped in his chair, bored out of his mind, and tired of listening to Penguin run his mouth.

“Sir?” The word is drawled out, a mixture of respect and slight laziness, and Penguin looks away from the TV to meet his eyes. 

“Did you need something, Victor?” Penguin looks relaxed, which is a good sign. 

“Permission to go out?” Pale green eyes narrow, and Victor relaxes his body even further. 

“Off to see someone special?”

“No one special, no one particular.” The answer makes Penguin laugh, and he flaps his hand in Victor’s direction. 

“Go, have fun, but be prepared to come if I call you.”

“Of course, sir,” Victor says as he stands up. He’s still fully dressed, so all he has to do is walk out the front door. It’s dark out, dark enough that no one can see him as he winds his way through the city, and he’s only breathing slightly out of rhythm by the time he makes it to Bex’s new apartment building. He goes in through the back entrance of the garage, where he knows there aren’t any cameras, and then takes the elevator up to Bex’s apartment. Once he steps off the elevator and into Bex’s apartment, he stops and just breathes. It’s the most relaxed he’s felt all day. Until he hears the scream.

**.xXx.**

_“You thought you could attack us, girl?!” The low level lackeys are idiots, and she’s not quite sure what that makes her since they managed to string her up. Ropes are rubbing her wrists raw, blood is slicking down her arms, and thin whips have torn her shirt to shreds. She clearly didn’t think this through. She’s already killed a few of Hawthorne’s rats, dirty people living on the streets that didn’t fight much, and she thought she was ready to move up the ladder. These guys aren’t very close to Hawthorne, but they’ve done the odd job for him._

 _“You need to come up with some better dialogue,” she rasps out. Her back is screaming in pain; thin lines are spreading out to cause mass destruction, and it looks like she’ll never wear a backless dress again._

_The whip lashes out one more time, and the overhead pipe that she’s tied to collapses. The pipe clangs against the ground as her body thumps against the concrete floor, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on the new scrapes and bruises. The moment she realizes that she’s on the ground and not swaying in the air, she’s running. Loud shouts and heavy footfalls are sounding behind her, but she doesn’t have time to slow down. There’s no time. No time at all. No time. She has to do something. She’s in a kill or be killed scenario now._

_The warehouse is filled with giant containers, so she runs around them in a circle. The men chasing her don’t realize that she’s doubling back, and that’s just fine with her. She gets back to their original position, and her fingers are just gripping the pipe when a bullet tears through the meat of her shoulder. She yelps as she goes down, and she tries to keep perfectly still. Listens as the man who shot her creeps closer. When she can see his dirty shoes and smell the rot of his breath, she swings the pipe. It connects with his chin, and she keeps swinging as he goes down. By the time she’s done, he’s got a face that not even his mama would recognize._

_The second guy finally catches up to them, and she uses the first man’s gun to shoot him. Her body is screaming in pain, every little nerve ending feels like it’s on fire, except for the parts of her that are going numb. She needs to see a doctor, but she can’t go to a hospital. She knows that there are back alley doctors, but she’s not sure if she can trust them either. They mostly keep to themselves, it’s the only way to stay in business, but there’s no way of telling if one of them belongs to Hawthorne. She hasn’t questioned enough people yet to know who’s guilty._

_She can patch herself up. She’s smart enough to do that much at least, right? She uses the pipe as a makeshift walking stick, and she stays close to the shadows as she slinks away from the warehouse. She’s not worried about the cops finding her with two dead bodies; she’s worried about another criminal finding her with two dead bodies. No one can know what she’s doing, or why. She’s doing this for herself. It doesn’t matter how many of them cut her, shoot her, whip her…None of it matters, because she’s going to kill them all. Every last one of them._

**.xXx.**

Bex is lying on the couch, in a pair of loose black shorts and a purple sports bra, and she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. Her hair has fallen from the ponytail it was in, just a small section is still restrained, and she’s thrashing. A nail catches at the dip of his throat, and he can feel the quick burn of pain before he can grip her wrists. Her legs are still kicking wildly, one knee connects with his ribcage, so he throws one leg over hers to hold her down.

“Bexley!” The eyes that look up at him are wild, like a rabid animal, and she bares her teeth up at him. This is a side of her that he’s never seen. The smiling girl that dances off-beat is gone and has been replaced with a woman that looks possessed. Her chest heaves as she glares up at him, so much raw anger, and he can feel the way her muscles are straining under him. If she wanted, she could throw him off. 

“I…wha…you’re bleeding.” Her voice is rougher than usual, from the screaming, and he looks down at himself. 

“I’m not bleeding. You’re bleeding.” There’s a split in her lip, on the right side. Just a small line of blood has marked a path down her chin. 

“Your, uh, neck.” He reaches up and touches the skin just above his shirt, in the dip above his collarbones, and feels something sticky. 

“Just a scratch. What happened?” It’s a stupid question. He doesn’t like stupid questions, but it just slips out. She obviously had a nightmare, but…what kind of nightmare?

“Old memories. Happens sometimes. You never have bad dreams?” 

“Monsters don’t have nightmares.” He’s still straddling her lap and sitting back against her thighs, and she’s stretched out on the couch in front of him. The sports bra leaves most of her torso bare, and it’s getting hard to look away. More dark ink curls around her right ribcage and down across her right collarbone. The left side of her chest is covered with a thick scar, like someone tried to tear her heart out, and there’s four thick slashes across her left ribcage. Scar tissue bubbles down her sternum and lines streak across her stomach; there’s a deep scarred hole over her left hip and a jagged line across her right hipbone that dips down her pelvic bone. 

“I think you’re wrong, Victor. Monsters have nightmares. They are the nightmares.” She’s tapping a finger against a gouge on her right ribcage, like someone tore away a chunk of flesh. “I know, I’m ruined.”

“You’re a masterpiece.” He touches the old bullet wound on her right shoulder, and the scarring tells him that this is where the bullet came out. She was shot from behind. It’s years old, faded but still rough, just like all the other ones. He moves from her shoulder to her chest, and fingertips touch the edge of the giant X carved into her skin. 

“Such a sweet talker.” She arches her back to help him trace the line, and he can feel her too dark eyes on him. Watching. Waiting. He moves both hands down to her ribs and sweeps them up her ribcage, and she sighs as she arches against the movement. She’s soft between all of the rough edges. “Do you like me like this, Victor? All laid out so that you can see who I really am?”

“I like all your parts.” She tilts her head, and his hands smooth around to her back as she carefully sits up. He can feel more raised scar tissue on her back, thick and long lines as if she’s been whipped, but she’s still so _soft_.

“Explain.” It’s not a question. This is his boss, demanding an answer, while his fingertips map out the destruction of her body. 

“I like the part of you that hums and dances. I like the part of you that can kill with her bare hands. I like the part of you that has ridiculously colored Band-Aids. I like the part of you that doesn’t fear me, that takes care of me. I like this part of you.” He drags his fingers down her back, from her shoulder blades to the top of her shorts, and feels the way she shivers against him. 

“Like I said, such a sweet talker. But you mean it, don’t you?” He can feel her hand pressing against his lower stomach, one finger idly flicking the bottom button. 

“I will never lie to you.” She walks her fingers up the buttons of his shirt, until she is pressing her index finger against the scratch on the bottom of his throat. Suddenly, she is gripping his throat with one slim hand and has him pushed back against the opposite arm of the couch. Her warm weight presses against his torso and holds him down, and all he can see are her dark eyes. (Is this the real Bex? This woman with too dark eyes and a confident grip on his throat?)

“Because you’re mine?” The question is whispered, and she’s so close that he can feel her warm breath against his chin. 

“Because I’m yours.” Her lips touch his just long enough for him to register the heat of her, the softness, and then she’s rolling off of him. When he turns to look up at her, she is gathering her hair back on top of her head. He can clearly see the scars that line her back, exactly like whip marks, and watches as she picks up the discarded sweatshirt next to the couch. 

“Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up.” He licks his lips as he gets to his feet and tastes blood, and he follows after her. He’ll always follow after her.

**.xXx.**

“Did I just kiss you?” She’s pressing an alcohol pad against the bottom of Victor’s throat, to clean away the streak of blood, and he’s smiling at her. He’s leaning back against the bathroom sink with her standing between his spread legs, and it’s like everything is becoming clear. That part with Victor, on the couch, that wasn’t a dream. That was real.

“Not memorable enough for you?” He’s teasing her. Normally she’d be over the moon at Victor teasing her, but her head feels fuzzy. 

“I’ve never, I mean, well, you see—”

“Just spit it out.” She loves it when he talks through his teeth and with a clenched jaw; it’s such a demanding tone that it makes her toes curl. 

“I’ve never kissed someone just because I wanted to. I’ve had to kiss people while working, but it was just a means to an end. It was…nice.” Her first kiss was with a killer for hire that had a taste for younger girls. It was before the burn that takes up a good portion of her left thigh, so she’d worn a pleated skirt and a pristine white button-up shirt. By the time she was done, the shirt was streaked in shades of red and she’d had her first kiss with her twelfth target. 

“Never for fun?” 

“I didn’t think it could be fun. Not for me,” she says with a shrug. Wow, she actually kissed Victor. There’s a smudge of red against his bottom lip to prove it. “Was it okay? Because I wasn’t trying to invade your personal space, and I don’t want to take advantage of you. I didn’t know what I was thinking, it just happened, I’m so—”

Strong hands are gripping the sides of her face, but the hold is almost gentle. Fingertips are buried in her hair, and Victor’s teeth lightly pull against her bottom lip. A lick of pain shoots through the right side of her lip, and she leans up on her toes as warmth spreads across her face and down towards her chest. Oh, this is much better than anything she’s ever experienced. Victor’s shoulders are strong under her hands, and he’s being so careful with her. No one has ever been careful with her before. 

“Never say sorry, unless you mean it.” His lips brush against hers with every word, slick with blood, and her face feels tingly. Maybe because she stopped breathing?

“Okay.” Normally she’d have a witty retort, but she’s not exactly clear-headed at the moment. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up and then go watch the news.” The words don’t really mean anything special, but it feels special to her. Victor’s going to take care of her, and she’s going to take care of him.

**.xXx.**

They’re back on the couch, and Victor prefers this sitting arrangement to the last one. Bex is a warm weight against his side, tucked under his arm and curled against his ribs, and her hair tickles just under his chin. His hand is under the soft material of her oversized sweatshirt, and his thumb keeps idly tracing around the scar that runs the length of her hip and then disappears into her shorts. The news is on, replaying the same video of the police station massacre, so he’s not really paying attention. He’s already seen it, and the texture of Bex’s skin is more interesting.

“I don’t like senseless violence,” she says once the video cuts off. 

“Really?” He saw her with the last man that broke into her other apartment; she enjoyed the kill. She enjoys killing. 

“There should always be a reason. Self-defense, self-preservation, passion, money…there should always be a reason.” She tilts her head back so she can look at him, and he looks down into her eyes. The dark look in them has faded, average brown is looking up at him, but he has a feeling that the other Bex is hiding somewhere just beneath the surface. 

“They have a reason.” Her brows draw together in confusion, and he raises his other hand to lightly touch against the lines that mar her forehead. “Think of what they’ve done. Throwing people off the roof of the paper. Trying to set a school bus on fire, which failed because of the police. Killing cops on their own turf. There’s a reason for all of it.”

“Panic,” she whispers. He traces his fingers down the side of her face and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. 

“Panic,” he agrees. She reaches up to take his hand with both of hers, and she taps her fingers against his knuckles. 

“They have to be planning more than just panic. Someone got them out, but they have to have a bigger plan than flooding the city with fear. Don’t they?” The news is still on, but the reporter’s voice sounds like it’s far away. 

“I’m sure they do. Should we look into it?” She hums lightly in the back of her throat and ducks down to rub her cheek against his fingers, and she looks up at him with her cheek still resting against his hand. 

“I’m not here to clean up Gotham or protect it from maniacs. I’m here to make sure that Penguin doesn’t fail.”

“What about Hawthorne?” He didn’t think her eyes could get any darker than they did earlier, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the shade. There’s a look in her eyes almost like she had after he woke her up; it’s pure, raw anger. 

“He’s a side project.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So not much action but still fun, huh? Things are definitely starting to change between Victor and Bex, and the big action will start up again soon. It’s still early in the story, so I’m fleshing out the characters and showing how they’re going to interact.
> 
> The scenes mentioning the news and the bit where Bex gets bumped into comes from Episode 2 of Season 2. I’m going to try to follow the show without changing it as much as possible, so we’ll see how this goes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So, I decided to work on this story on New Year’s Eve but realized that I still hadn’t seen anything past 2x11. I was also having issues remembering stuff, so I just went back and started watching from Victor’s first appearance for inspiration. It was slow going, but I’m officially caught up! If there’s anyone else sitting on the edge of their seat waiting for the next half of season three, I’m right there with you! I am caught up now though, and I’ve got ideas coming out the wazoo. If you don’t care about my ramblings, feel free to skip the next section of this note and go straight for the chapter. 
> 
> After watching the series, I went back and cleaned up the previous chapters. If you’re reading this after **1/7/2017** , don’t worry about the cleaning up thing because you’ve read the cleaned up version. Good for you! To any older readers, I fixed the details and cleaned up the grammar as much as I could. (I’m in serious need of a beta reader, if anyone is interested!) 
> 
> During my **Gotham** binge, I created a timeline for Season 2. Somewhat. I’m not sure if any of you have ever tried to map out the timeline of **Gotham** , but it’s incredibly difficult. Some of the time between events has been changed, but I tried to keep it as close as I could. I now have a timeline for this story that continues all throughout Season 2, even though there was a serious lack of Zsasz in the second half of Season 2. Don’t worry, this story will cover what he was up to during that time. I also better mapped out Bex’s past, as well as Victor’s. I also have a listing of Bex’s scars, if you can believe it, so the details are a bit more cohesive from here on out. 
> 
> I think that’s enough rambling for now. If you’re an older reader, you don’t have to go back and read the story all over again. The big things haven’t changed a bit. The story just flows a little better. I have a lot of plans for the rest of this story, but I would still love to know thoughts! I need all the help I can get.

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap05_zpsbtpm1zpb.gif.html)

The next ten days, and nights, pass by without much of anything happening. Bex and Victor have their separate assignments at night, and they both start sleeping during the day. Sometimes they miss each other completely. Bex will wake up as the sun is going down to see Victor’s pajamas tossed onto the dresser, as if he left in a hurry, and that’s her only way of knowing that they slept next to each other. She has also slipped into her apartment to find Victor already in bed, and he’ll look at her for a few seconds before falling right back to sleep. The most they talk is to exchange what they’ve found, which is a whole lot of nothing.

Bex listens for two sets of chatter when she goes out, occasionally three. The whole city is on edge from the shootout at the police station, and the police department is still down a commissioner and a captain. It makes people nervous. So she listens to the criminals grumble about the cops’ warpath, and it makes her uneasy. Yes, the cops are a little vengeful at the moment, but she doesn’t want that anger to bleed over into Oswald’s leadership. Victor spends his nights looking for whoever helped the maniacs escape from Arkham, but there’s no real leads. It’s frustrating. 

So she keeps an ear out for Oswald and for whoever orchestrated the Arkham escape, but she also listens for talk of a new player in town. It’s been quiet on that front as well so far, so Gavin Hawthorne is either staying out of Gotham or is good at staying hidden. She’s sure that she would hear about a long lost Hawthorne returning to Gotham, so he must not be in town. Not yet at least. (He has to come to Gotham soon, or she’ll have to hunt him down. She doesn’t want to leave the city, but she will.)

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps, deliberately loud and echoing, and she twists around so that she can look over the back of the couch. It’s only a little after nine at night, but she doesn’t have anywhere to be tonight. She spent two days out in the city, so she’s ready for some good sleep. She’s been trying to stay awake so that she can get her days and nights straight, so she’s going to call meeting Victor’s eyes over the back of the couch good luck. If she had gone to bed two hours ago when she originally wanted, she would have missed seeing him. 

“Staying or passing through?” she asks. Nothing in the apartment had been changed when she got home, so she hadn’t been able to tell if he’d been by or not while she was gone. 

“Showering and sleeping,” is his answer. It’s a good answer. One that she completely agrees with. 

“I’ll be in bed when you get out.” He nods and walks off, and she listens to the sound of his fading footsteps before getting off the couch. She turns off everything in the living room and kitchen, and she drags her feet up the stairs to her bedroom. The only light is coming from the lamp on her bedside table, the blankets have already been turned down, and she can hear the shower running because the door is cracked open. 

Since everything has already been taken care of, she crawls up onto the bed. The music is changed to something soft with the volume turned down before she drops the remote onto the bedside table, and she props her back up against the headboard. If she actually lays down, she’ll fall asleep before she gets to see Victor. There’s even a slight chance that she might fall asleep sitting up. Thankfully, the bathroom door opens wider only a few minutes later. She smiles as Victor comes into view, and he’s dressed in his usual pajamas. Black sweatpants and a black tee shirt. She bought them in packs. 

“Is that mine?” She looks down at his question and pinches some of the dark fabric over her sternum. 

“I paid for it, but I bought it for you,” she shrugs. After taking her own shower earlier, she’d grabbed one of Victor’s discarded plain black sleeping shirts to slip on. The fabric smelled like a combination of them. Like her hair products and body wash. Like gun oil and mint. It was comforting. 

“Is that your way of saying that you missed me?” The lamp turns off as he’s sitting on the bed, and she holds still until he’s laying down. Once he’s comfortable, she slides down and moves over to his side. She’s wondered, more than once over the past week, if she does the same thing in her sleep when he joins her. 

“No. If I missed you, I’d just say it.” He’s warm from the shower but still smells vaguely of smoke, but she decides not to ask. He would tell her if it was something important. She wraps an arm around his middle and tucks herself against his side, and she feels his arm move around to brace against her back. One hand slips under the tee shirt to grip her hip, and she rubs her cheek against his chest. “I missed you, Victor.”

“Knew it.” He sounds half asleep already, and she’s right behind him. Or possibly ahead of him. She yawns one last time before letting go and falling asleep.

**.xXx.**

Victor has always woken up instantly alert. There has never been a slow transition from sleep to wakefulness, and today is no exception. As soon as his mind switches back into consciousness, he is aware of everything around him. He can feel the too plush pillow under his head, knows his legs are twisted under the thick blanket, and realizes that a slight weight is pressing down against his stomach. Not enough pressure to alter his breathing, but it’s enough to let him know that she’s there. He knows it’s Bex, because he can smell her. Coconut and vanilla, with a little mint mixed in. She woke up and brushed her teeth before climbing back onto her bed to apparently straddle his stomach.

“Is this how you wake up all of your employees, or am I just special?” His eyes don’t open until he finishes drawling the sentence out, and he quickly assesses Bex’s appearance. Her brown hair is wild around her face, her eyes are squinted as she looks down at him, and her hands are hovering over his chest. She’s still dressed in the purple shorts and the black tee shirt she fell asleep in last night, but he can’t read the look on her face. He can’t tell what she’s thinking. 

“You see me, and I see you.” A smart remark is on the tip of his tongue, and he actually has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking. She’s not speaking in the literal sense. He pulls his hands out from under the thick blanket slowly, so that she can see his every movement, and then moves his hands to the bottom of her shirt. (His shirt.) Her only movement is to raise her arms so that he can pull the fabric off, and he tosses it to the side without caring about where it lands. 

“I see you.” His left hand moves down her right ribcage, starting with the top of the black tree inked into her skin. From there, his hand sweeps down to touch against the large scar that destroys the center of the trunk. The scar is a faded pink and about the size of his palm, but her skin turns smooth again as his hand moves down to trace over the inked roots of the tree. 

“It was a sharpened pipe. One of the current wife’s bodyguards got me because I thought he was dead, and I had to cauterize it myself afterwards. No one could be trusted.” Her voice is quiet in the large room, and his thumb lightly brushes against the raised edge of the scar. He watches as her back arches, pushing her hips forward just the smallest amount, and he continues to move his hand down. The scar that runs along her right hip and slips along her pelvic bone, under her shorts, is about as thick as one of his fingers and a startling white against her tan skin. A knife wound. 

“No one trusts me.” One hand settles against the center of his chest, and the slight pressure is telling him to stay still. To not move. Her other hand reaches over to touch against his left arm, and he can see her lips moving as her fingers trace the raised edges of the healed tally marks. He’s only in a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt, both black, and he rarely lets anyone have this much access to his skin. 

“I don’t have to trust you. I own you.” His eyes narrow up at her, and the weight against his chest increases. Her center presses harder against his stomach as she leans down, and the right side of her lip has healed. There’s still a line, but it’s so faint now. “Say it, Victor. Say that I own you.”

“Why is it so important that you own me?” He barely knows her; he had never even heard of her before two weeks ago, aside from the whispered legends of the assassin who took down the Hawthorne family. He wants to understand her. Needs to know how she got under his skin so fast. 

“I’ve never really owned anything before. Not anything of value. Just material things.” She’s leaning so far over him now that her hair is forming a curtain around his face, but her eyes still flick around the room. “Nothing of substance. Nothing important. You’re special, Victor. Can’t you feel it? I thought I felt it the first time I looked into your eyes, but I knew for sure when we killed that guy together. We’re the same. I can be yours, but you have to be mine too.”

Their fingers had overlapped as they choked the last man to break into her first apartment, and he’d seen the look in her dark eyes. The manic joy that comes from a satisfying kill. From getting your hands dirty. She ordered him to kill for her, and he did it without hesitation. Made it extra messy, just for her. Came to her once he was done and let her take care of him. He even let her carve a new tally into his arm, which is something that he’d never allow someone else to do. Yes, there is something different about Bexley Barba. Like there’s something different about him. Her eyes are still staring down at him, but the usual brown of her eyes is just a small ring around her dilated pupils. He keeps his eyes locked with hers as he lifts his chin, and he can feel the rush of air that she expels at the movement. 

“I’m yours.” He can say that to her, because it means that she’s his too. This woman, with her soft skin and ragged scars, can be his. The hand on his chest stays pressed firm against him as it moves higher, and his jaw clenches as her hand curls around his throat. Her palm is pushing against his Adam’s apple, four fingers are flush against the calm pulse in his throat, and her thumb is pushing against the edge of his jaw. 

“That’s not what I told you to say.” Her voice is quiet and sing-song, and her hair tickles against his cheeks. Her thumb bends so that her nail can press into his skin, just hard enough to sting, and her knees tighten against his ribs. 

“You own me.” The smile that spreads across her face is transformative. Lines appear next to her eyes as her cheeks dimple, and the tan skin of her face flushes as her nose wrinkles. She keeps her hand on his throat as she leans down to press her lips against his, and he lets his tongue flick out to touch against the dent left behind on her bottom lip before she can pull back. Her lips are dry but soft, tastes minty, and she’s looking at him like he’s something she’s never seen before. 

“I’m not innocent, but I never really enjoyed it. I did what I had to. Means to an end. What if I never enjoy sex?” It’s a simple three letter word, and it shouldn’t make him react like this. Like his blood is on fire, and he’s aware of his hands gripping her hips. Gripping tight enough to bruise. 

“Then we never have sex.” He’s many things, and he can admit to all of those things. A heartless killer with no remorse, but there are some lines that he will not cross. There are other ways to torture. 

“I think I might be a little possessive of you. Would you really abstain just for me?” Both of her hands move up to cup his face, and her left palm is rougher than the right one. More scar tissue? He hasn’t had the time to properly examine all of her. 

“I’m sure we can find other ways to entertain ourselves,” he says after a moment of thinking. Sex is just another form of release; it’s something that he experiences every time that he watches the light leave a person’s eyes. 

“What if I wanted to experiment?” Her smile is mischievous at best and sadistic at worst, and he uses the hold on her hips to shift her body down his. Her eyes widen as her lips form a small “O” and a quiet gasp escapes from between her lips. “I don’t think I’m ready yet, but I’ll want to try things soon. You can be patient for me, can’t you, Victor?”

“I’m a very patient man.” His own smile bares his teeth, and her fingers tease behind his ears as she leans down again. This time her kiss is stronger, rougher, and he lets her have complete control. It goes against his nature, especially in situations like these, but he likes the way that her teeth nip at his lips. Likes the sounds she makes when her tongue dips down to taste him. Likes the little aborted thrusts of her hips. 

“You are far too tempting,” she groans as she sits back up. She’s sitting on his stomach again, but she’s keeping most of her weight on her knees so that he can breathe easily. “Fix me breakfast?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Her fingers lightly dance over the front of his throat one last time and then she’s slipping off of him. He watches the way that the strong muscles in her thighs flex as she moves off the bed before sitting up himself, and she winks at him before disappearing inside of her closet. 

Victor’s going to mark this one down as his strangest wakeup call but not his least enjoyable. Here’s hoping the rest of the day goes by just as well.

**.xXx.**

“Do you have to go to Penguin’s today?” Bex asks after downing three pieces of sausage. Victor’s eyes move over to hers, and heat curls low in her stomach. It’s not a completely new sensation, but it has been a very long time since she felt genuine desire.

“No, but I have other duties to tend to. I’m more than just an attack dog.” Is that how Penguin treats him? Like something common and replaceable? Something that can be called out and then placed away until there’s need for him? She’s going to have to start taking better care of him. People like Victor are rare. 

“So, what’s your plan for today?” When she agreed to take this job and Mister Carmine told her about his plan to get her Victor’s allegiance, she imagined they wouldn’t spend much time together. They each have a job to do, but she doesn’t want him away from her. She likes the way that he looks at her, the way he touches her. They’ve known each other for two weeks now, and they’ve spent most of those days together. Usually unconscious. She wants more awake time with him. Is that too much to ask?

“I’ve got to take care of my girls.” Her spine stiffens as something ugly curls under her sternum, but she knows who he’s talking about. She doesn’t know names, she doesn’t think anyone does, but she’s heard about the women that make up Victor’s team. She hasn’t thought to mention them because he hasn’t, but she can feel the large muscles in her body tensing up like she’s preparing for a fight. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.” Her answer is instant, but it’s mostly a response to his amused tone. When she looks over at him, he’s smiling at her wide enough to show both rows of his teeth. He gets up slowly, so that she can follow his every movement, and she stays leaned back in her chair as he hovers over her. Since her hair is put up, his hands cup her cheeks and tilt her head back even more. The position would be painful if she wasn’t so focused on how close his face is to hers. 

“This is only for us.” Her lips part to ask what that means, because the other women are his partners too, but he moves down before she can form a sound. 

The kiss is rough but still feels controlled, and she reaches up for him on instinct as he presses her harder against the chair. Fingers curl in the material of his jacket, because he’s fully dressed in a suit, and she groans in frustration. One hand moves to grip her ponytail and pull her head back, and her desperate fingers move over his neck in an attempt to feel skin as he licks at her. His lips force hers to part so he can kiss her harder, deeper, and she digs her fingers under the back of his collar. Digs her nails in beneath the edge of the fabric so that she can leave her mark on him. His other hand is still on her face, holding her in place as he devours her, and her thighs squeeze together as heat rushes through her. 

When Victor pulls back, her chest is heaving and her lips feel numb. The sensation quickly fades into something hotter, something that tingles, and her fingers are still under the back of his collar. She could kiss him again if she wanted to, and she wants to. Wants to in a way that makes her ache, but she can’t. He has other responsibilities, and it’s far too early for her to feel so possessive of him. So instead of using her hold on him to pull him back to her, instead of getting to taste him, she lets him go. She makes a note of the little bit of blood clinging to her fingertips and smiles, and Victor’s thumb presses against her bottom lip. She can barely feel the pain, and she darts her tongue out to taste the salt of his skin. It’s better than nothing. 

“I think you should call me tonight.” She doesn’t have many numbers in her phone, but Victor’s is one of the few. They’d exchanged numbers during their shopping trip, just in case, and she wonders if the little nuances in his tone can be carried over a phone line. Will she be able to hear when he smiles? When his teeth are bared or when his lip curls up?

“And why is that?” His hands are stroking over her face and neck. Gentle petting. She notices when he finds the small scar behind her ear; the skin is only slightly raised, only an inch or so long and thin, but she’s learning that Victor rarely misses the little things. 

“I want to try an experiment,” she says and smiles innocently up at him. It’s a smile that she learned to perfect when she was younger. Widens her eyes and lets only a little flash of her teeth show from between her swollen lips. The kiss he places against the top of her head is so gentle in comparison to the one from just moments ago, and her eyes close against the feeling. 

“I’ll call you.” When her eyes open, Victor is gone and she’s alone on the patio. Now, how can she distract herself for the day?

**.xXx.**

“Are you watching the news?” Two pairs of eyes flick over to look at him, without subtlety or finesse, and Victor makes a point of turning up the TV as they continue to watch him.

“The kid likes playing dress-up,” he says in answer. It’s been a good day. A productive day. He didn’t get to kill anyone, but he feels accomplished anyway. He doesn’t like going so long without seeing his girls, and he went four days without laying eyes on them as they tracked down separate leads. 

“First a cop, now a magician. Gotta hand it to him though. He’s got flair,” Bex says. The Deputy Mayor, as well as many more of Gotham’s finest, are dead. The kid, because he is a kid, shoots an apple off of a man’s head. Good aim. 

“Did you call me to talk about the news?” He knows eyes are still on him, but he doesn’t care. He likes the sound of Bex’s loud laughter. If she’s watching the news, she has to be sitting on the couch. Is she all covered up or letting her bare skin slide against the leather?

“No. I actually called to ask how your day went, but I got a little distracted by the massacre. You know, with the right teacher, this kid could be something incredible.” Her voice is quiet, curious, and his fingers clench around the phone. He doesn’t have time to babysit a budding serial killer. 

“My day was fine. How was yours?” Now he can definitely feel the questioning stares, but he makes a point of not looking over at his girls. He has to keep Bex a secret; no one can know that she’s in Gotham. Not until she says so. A deep groan comes through the tinny speaker, but it pales in comparison to the sound she made this morning. He wants to hear that sound again. 

“It was so boring! Maybe I should get a cat, or a hit list. Isn’t there an assassin club in town? I can do a few jobs on the side, right?” She’s restless. A part of him has wondered if she continued killing after leaving Gotham, after she completed her revenge, and he has his answer now. 

“Thought you wanted to lay low?” Her laugh is quieter this time, a little deeper, and then she sighs. 

“Are you saying you don’t have faith in me, Victor? I’m a good assassin. Quick. Quiet. Clean.” She ticks off the last three like she’s reading from a grocery list, and he remembers the look of the first apartment she tried to live in. Sees the puddles and streaks across the walls. Remembers the dirt that clung to her that first day from burying bodies. He’ll give her quick and quiet, but she hasn’t sold him on clean yet. “Did you hear that man’s speech? The knocked out guy?”

“New billionaire in town?” He would rather think about Bex dancing around drying puddles of blood on the floor, but he’s focused on the TV again now. 

“That’s the one. Did he sound off to you? He sounded off to me.” She doesn’t sound worried, so he’s not worried. 

“Want to look into him?” Her hum is quiet and barely audible, and he wants to feel her weight against his side. It’s almost annoying how attached he’s become in such a short amount of time. Almost. 

“No. I don—Oh, look, he’s getting up.” They watch together as the billionaire stands up and then stabs the rampaging kid in the neck, and something is off. The news isn’t picking up the sound, but Victor can see the man’s lips moving. He’s speaking to the kid, but he can’t tell what he’s saying. “I take it back. He might be worth looking into, later. I’m going out tomorrow night, so I’ll need to prepare tomorrow. I want to hear if there’s any chatter about Gavin Hawthorne. You’re free to do whatever you want, but I want you to call me if there’s any problems with Oswald.”

“Are you saying goodnight? I thought we were going to experiment?” He can hear the taunt in his own voice but doesn’t apologize for it, and Bex’s laugh is nearly breathless this time. He stores the information in a box carefully labeled with her name before focusing intently on her response. 

“Who says I haven’t already? Goodnight, Victor.” Before he can reply, the call goes silent. She said goodnight and then hung up on him. He returns his phone to a pocket lining the inside of his jacket, and he finally allows his eyes to move to the other side of the room. They’re not looking at him, not anymore, but he can see the faint smiles on their faces. 

“Got somethin’ you wanna talk about?”

“No.” His answer ends the conversation immediately, but he knows it’ll be brought up again. For now though, Bex is all his.

**.xXx.**

The next day is just as boring as the day before, but Bex at least gets to feel the anticipation of her upcoming night. Even if she doesn’t learn anything useful or gets to put an end to someone, she’ll still be out of the house. That’s good enough for her, because she’s never liked being cooped up. Her mother used to scold her all the time for running around outside and getting her clothes dirty. (There was also that time when she was stuck in a tight, dark space. Trapped. Scared. She doesn’t like that feeling, and she’s willing to do whatever it takes to never feel that way again.)

By the time night rolls around, she’s fully dressed and ready to go out. It’s too bad that the night is a complete disappointment. She didn’t think it was possible, but the city is even more on edge after the killings at the Hospital Gala. Maybe it’s because the Deputy Mayor is dead and the actual Mayor is MIA. The few, somewhat, decent citizens of Gotham are locked away inside their homes. The criminals of Gotham are quiet and subdued, on edge, and no one is talking. There’s whispers, but that’s it. She calls it quits by one and returns home, and she doesn’t hide her sigh as she walks into her empty bedroom. She was hoping Victor would be here. 

The sight of her reflection makes her stomach knot up, but she’s careful as she pulls off the dark red wig. The dark strands had bobbed around her face, so much shorter than her actual hair, and she slowly looks at the rest of her appearance. The dark blue dress has long sleeves and keeps her covered up from her thighs to her throat, and the boots she’s wearing keep her covered from the tops of her thighs to her toes. Gloves hide her hands, so her face is the only skin showing. Makeup makes her look paler than her naturally tan complexion, and contacts make her eyes look bright blue. She’s a stranger to her own eyes. 

Twenty minutes later, she’s in the shower and slowly starting to feel more like herself. Her hair is down and tickles just under her shoulder blades, and she can see herself in a way that few ever have. She isn’t ashamed of her body, but any of the marks can be identifiers. Her scars and tattoos, all combined, are quite distinctive. So when she ventures out into the world, she has to be someone else. It’s how she’s always done things, so why does it bother her so much now? She has never wanted recognition, for anything, but she’s starting to get this urge to be seen. 

_“You see me, and I see you.”_

Victor sees her. It’s more than just the physical, although it’s nice to be seen that way as well. Especially by someone who sees her scars and understands just how much she sacrificed to do what she did. Victor sees the marks and knows what she endured, and he respects her for it. She can feel his respect every time his hands touch against her skin, and it’s a heady feeling. It’s more than that though. He can see who she really is, even when she tries to hide it. She’s not sure how to classify herself; she was born normal, average, but something in her psyche shifted after her mother died. She knows that murder is wrong, but she doesn’t feel remorse for the lives she’s taken. She’s even enjoyed some of the kills, especially Nathan’s. She likes the planning and execution of a good assassination, and she’s kept herself away from everyone. Until Victor. Because he can see her. He’s like her, he understands her, and she didn’t even realize she was looking for someone similar to her until she found him.

Did Mister Carmine know? He’s known her his entire life and worked closely with Victor for over a decade, so did he see the similarities between them and just know that they could work together? Has Victor been looking for someone like her too? The shower turns off while she’s still deep in thought, and she pulls on her small pile of pajamas while feeling distracted. Purple shorts. Baggy black tee shirt. Since her hair is wet, she pins it up behind her before walking into her bedroom. She pauses with one knee on the bed as her neck prickles, because she’s not alone. 

“Are you real?” She loves it when he drawls his words out. Makes the syllables stretch. It gives every word a little more weight, more meaning. With a careful twist, she sits on the bed with her feet hanging over the side and looks at her bookcase. The only light is coming from the bedside lamp, so she can barely see Victor’s outline. 

“I was the last time I checked. Why do you ask?” Victor’s footsteps are silent as he walks over to her, and she tips her head back so that she can keep meeting his eyes. He’s standing close enough to touch, but he’s keeping himself away from her. Why?

“Two weeks, and I missed you after leaving yesterday morning. I don’t miss anyone.” Oh, so this is new for him too. It’s good to know that she’s not alone in all of this. She reaches out for his hands and then frowns when she feels leather instead of skin. No fair. 

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Tonight, we’re going to sleep. Agreed?” The way his jaw clenches causes shadows to appear over his cheeks, and she moves her hand to his jacket.

Victor is silent as she undresses him, button by button, but she can feel his eyes on her. The weapons holstered on him are placed on the bedside table, but she lets his clothes fall to the floor. That’s something to be dealt with tomorrow too. She kneels between him and the bed so that she can remove his boots and socks, and she’s impressed that he can walk so quietly in the heavy footwear. Once he’s nearly stripped completely down, leaving only a pair of black boxer briefs on, she grabs his hand and pulls him onto the bed behind her. By the time she has the music turned on and the lamp turned off, he’s lying down and waiting for her. She knows he’s waiting for her because his arms immediately pull her to him, and she curls into him.

**.xXx.**

She looks soft in sleep. Her dark hair is still pinned back, away from her face, so he can see her easier. Her cheek is pressed against his chest, and he can feel every warm exhale against his bare skin. One arm is curled under her pillow, and the other is stretched across his stomach and wrapped around his side. He can feel smooth fingertips pressing just under his back, and her legs are tangled around his under the blanket. He can feel soft skin and raised scar tissue all down her legs, from under her knees to her ankles, and he has one hand resting against the knife scar over her right hip.

“Your staring is distracting.” Nothing about her has changed; her face still looks impassive in sleep, so it’s almost easy to believe that he just imagined her voice. Blunt nails are lightly pressing against his back instead of skin, so he knows she’s awake. 

“Ready to talk now?” he asks instead of responding to her original statement. Her body stirs as she stretches and arches against him, but she doesn’t open her eyes. 

“I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen. Or eleven, because the foster system isn’t very good at keeping tabs on anyone. After the Hawthorne family, I knew I was different. Even the few assassins I’ve met over the years think that there’s something different about me; I could see it in their eyes whenever they saw my work. You don’t look at me like that. You get it. You understand me, don’t you, Victor? You understand that killing isn’t just what I do. It’s who I am. Because it’s who you are too.”

Her eyes are still closed, and her fingers are tracing circles over his ribs. Small loops, large ones. Over and over with no clear pattern as she speaks, and it helps him relax against the mattress. Yes, he understands her. She has to kill. Not as a compulsion, like some people think, but because that’s just who she is. It’s one of the reasons why he kills. It’s just who he is now, and he doesn’t see the point in denying that part of himself. Bex’s cheek nuzzles against him, and he tightens the grip he has on her hip. 

“My family was normal; my parents loved each other, and they gave me everything a child could ask for. They were rich but kind, and they died in a boating accident when I was fifteen. Their wealth meant I received a caretaker after their deaths, until I emancipated myself at sixteen. The same year that I graduated high school. I didn’t have a purpose in life, so a year later I was prepared to end it all. I was only one step away when a bum tried to rob me, and I killed him. The first kill always has the most clarity, doesn’t it?”

“My first was Hawthorne’s retired maid. It was easier than I expected, and killing her let me know that I was on the right path,” Bex quietly agrees. 

“I was sitting outside on my steps the next morning when the paper was delivered, and the headline was about the massacre of Don Falcone’s staff. Tracking down the man who killed them wasn’t difficult, and Don Falcone hired me to work for him after I showed up with the man’s head. Said he could tell that I had a bright future.” It’s a happy memory for him. Don Falcone had been careful with him at first, until he’d honed his skills and instincts, but the man had faith in him. Maybe he still does. 

“But you’ve been alone too, haven’t you?” He’s had his girls for the past couple of years, and there were others before them. He’s taught them and continues to teach them, but Bex is on his level. Or above it, if they go by body count alone. 

“Something like that.” Her hum is quiet, and her eyes finally open. Average brown, neither light nor dark, meets his. 

“We can make this complicated, or we can keep it simple. We’re together, and we’re honest with each other. I’m yours, and you’re mine. What else is there to discuss?” Her voice is quiet, but he can hear the quiet demand to her tone. He’s not sure if he can form a romantic attachment to anyone, but the thought of Bexley with anyone else makes him feel more homicidal than usual. Maybe it’s more obsession and possessiveness than anything else, but it’s enough for him. 

“Together. Deal.” She moves quickly, so that she’s lying peacefully beside him one moment and straddling his stomach a moment later. Her smile is wide and dimples her cheeks, and her hands are warm against his chest as she braces herself over him. 

“Together. I like the sound of that.” Her fingertips are pressing down against his collarbones, and her hair is wild around the both of them as she leans down. “Does that mean you’re all mine today?”

“Depends. What do you have planned?” Her smile shifts into something a little less innocent, and he’s surprised at the rush of heat he feels buzzing in his veins. 

“Breakfast, for starters. I’m _starving_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! And it only took me, what, eleven months? Seeing as how I’ve already started the next chapter and am currently obsessed, I should be able to update again soon. 
> 
> If you think that Victor and Bex are moving too fast, remember that ten days passed that I didn’t write. Also, they’re insane. So there’s that. Moving on! I know that Victor Zsasz has a set background, and I tried to keep it as close as I could for this story. He originally lost his parents at 25, but I changed it to 15. Why? To make it work with the story timeline that I have going, and to show a parallel between him and Bex. I feel like the show is taking liberties with backstories, so I hope everyone is okay with my change!
> 
> I really love the Zsaszettes, and I do plan on bringing them into the story later on. (Along with many other characters. Just wait until Bex finally meets Oswald.) I could use some help thinking of names for them though. I don’t know much of anything about the DC Universe, but I think the Zsaszettes are mostly just from the show. Please correct me if I’m wrong, and I’ll do some more research. If you can think of names for the two main Zsaszettes, please let me know!
> 
> The parts of this chapter that reference the Hospital Gala come from Season 2 Episode 3.


	6. Chapter 6

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap06_zpssosipusx.jpg.html)

A part of her wants to ask Victor how he learned to cook, but the largest part of her is happy to just lean against the counter and watch him. He looks good being all domestic, and the smell of good food cooking is always pleasant. Not quite as pleasant as looking at Victor though. Even now, in his sweatpants and tee shirt, he’s standing perfectly straight and moving with care. Sometimes the light catches on the scars lining his left arm, and she has to bite down on her lip every time she notices something different about him. It’s frustrating. She has never wanted anyone like she wants Victor, and it’s confusing. She doesn’t want this feeling to away though. Not anytime soon.

“Set the table.” She jumps to attention at the sound of his voice, and his brow raises as he looks at her. _Smooth, Bex. Real smooth._

“I didn’t hear the magic word.” When his teeth grind together, it causes a muscle in his jaw to twitch. What would that feel like against her lips?

“I’m not saying it.” She moves over to his side, manages to stop her eyes from rolling back in her head at the heavenly smell coming from the stove, and wraps her arms around his waist. He’s solid against her, lean and strong, and she wants to run her fingers over every inch of him. She leans up on her toes so that she can prop her chin on his shoulder, and her nose nearly brushes his jaw as he looks down at her. 

“C’mon, Victor. It’s just one word. One little syllable. You can say that for me, can’t you? Just for me?” She purses her lips in a pout and bats her eyelashes, and Victor pointedly rolls his eyes at her antics. The hard way it is then. 

She takes a slow breath, inhale and exhale, and then moves. She uses the hold she has on his middle to pull him away from the stove, and it only takes a little bit of strength gathered into her legs to leap into the air. Her hands push against Victor’s shoulders as she kicks off from the wall, and she’s able to slam his upper body against an empty space of countertop. She leans over him, so that her thighs are braced on either side of one of his, and layers her forearms across his throat. His pupils have dilated so that she can’t see the natural color of his eyes anymore, but his breathing is still even. Hands grip her hips, and he pulls on her before she can react. The friction that comes from being pulled up his thigh is _delicious_ , but she keeps her focus on him. She puts more pressure on her arms as Victor holds onto her, and he smiles. Wide enough to show both rows of his teeth. She’s sure to anyone else, it’s a look that would be terrifying. She drops her torso down against his, limiting what little ability he has left to breathe, but he keeps smiling. 

“I like this game better.” The words are quiet, strangled, but he still manages to pull her up farther. She shifts her right leg so that she’s straddling him properly, both knees braced against the countertop, and his hands are gripping are hips tight enough to bruise. He could throw her off if he wanted to, but he hasn’t even tried. 

“So do I. Now, say the magic word so that we can enjoy the beautiful breakfast you cooked. Smells wonderful, by the way.” She moves her arms away from his throat and then watches his tee shirt stretch as his chest expands. After two deep breaths, the hold on her hips loosens. 

“Thank you.” His hands slip under the shirt she’s wearing and move over her back, and the careful touch feels good against the old scar tissue. Hmm, maybe she can talk him into a massage at some point. 

“You do have manners! I was starting to wonder. Come on now, Victor. Say the word and then we can spend the rest of the day playing.”

She laughs as she’s lifted into the air, and she continues to laugh as her back is pressed against the countertop. Her legs lock around Victor’s waist and hold him close to her, not that she has to worry about him moving away. He leans over her with his hands braced on either side of her head, and she raises her hands to his shoulders. Smooths them around to his back and then up to press against the back of his neck. She can feel something rough on the back of his neck, and she stops laughing but keeps smiling. Scabs from where her nails dug into his skin the other morning. Looks like she did leave her mark on him. Victor leans down and runs his nose along her cheek, and she holds completely still as his lips brush the shell of her ear. 

“ _Please_ ,” he hisses against her ear. Her toes curl against the small of his back at the tone he uses, and her body arches up so that only her shoulder blades are bracing against the countertop. 

“Was that so hard?” He huffs a laugh against the side of her neck, and she rolls her eyes when she realizes that his mind is in the gutter. She moves her hands down to the countertop and pushes herself up, and Victor is forced to rise with her. He moves back so that his eyes meet hers, and she grins at him. “Food, now.”

“So bossy.” He makes a quiet tsking noise as his hands grip her hips again, and he lets her body slide against his until she’s standing in front of him. 

“You like it.” She pats his chest before turning around, and she hears him laughing quietly as she pulls out plates. Then silverware on top of the plates. Two glasses last, left next to the refrigerator. She carries the plates out onto the patio and puts them in their usual places, and she passes Victor on her way back inside. She pours them each some juice and then sits in her chair as Victor divides the food between them. 

“What’s our plan for today?” he asks after they’ve each taken a few bites. Well, he’s taken a few bites. She’s already finished her sausage and is moving on to her eggs. 

“I was thinking we could be plan free today. We can be lazy together.” She smiles when he looks over at her, even though her cheeks are stuffed full, and he shakes his head at her. 

“I’m not the lazy type.” After reclining back in her seat, she moves her feet over into his lap. One of his hands moves down to lightly grip her ankle, and she has to fight down a shiver as his thumb absently runs along the top of her foot. 

“Neither am I, but I was thinking that we could turn on the TV and then not watch it.” She sees his face pull together in confusion before evening out, and she’s careful to give him her most innocent smile when he looks over at her. 

“That sounds like a good plan to me.” Her laugh is startled out of her, but it feels good to laugh so freely. She hasn’t felt this light in years. 

“I thought it might.”

**.xXx.**

Victor has Bex under him, strong thighs wrapped tight around his hips and hands clawing against his shoulder blades, when his phone rings. His teeth release the skin over the side of Bex’s neck as he groans, and Bex whines low in her throat as her hips push up against his. She’s been so eager and responsive under him, pushing up against him and demanding more, and he doesn’t want to move away from her. Her hands slip out from under his shirt as her thighs fall open, and her body shakes under his as she pulls in a few ragged breaths.

“Go answer it.” He doesn’t want to, but he knows he has to. With one last groan, he pulls off of her and grips the back of the couch with one hand. He uses the hold to push his upper body up and over the back of the couch, and he walks to the kitchen in long strides. His phone is sitting on the kitchen counter, and he quickly snatches it up just as it starts ringing again. 

“What?!”

“Bad time, sir?” It’s Max, but he can hear Jade yelling in the background. 

“This better be important,” he says. It’s enough of an answer for Max, and he can hear Jade huffing quietly. She has him on speaker, of course. He’s trained many people over the years, but Jade and Max have been with him the longest. They have learned how to survive in this world.

“You told us to look out for anyone talking about a new player coming into town and to tell you about it first. We’re telling you,” Max reports. 

“He’s not very bright, and he keeps telling us we’ll be sorry. Can I kill him when you’re done?” Jade adds. 

“Depends on what he says. Where are you?” Max tells him the address, it’s one they’ve used before but don’t advertise, and he promises to be there soon. He keeps his phone in his hand as he walks back into the living room, and he props his arms against the back of the couch. Bex is still laying down on her back, with her legs spread and her arms stretched over her head, and he wants to join her. 

“Good news or bad?” Bex asks as she looks up at him. She bends one leg, and he reaches over to run a finger across her knee and then down her thigh. 

“Depends. Two of my girls found a guy talking about a new guy coming to town. Want to go check it out?” Her smile fades as her lips pinch into a thin line, and he reaches up to lightly touch the lines between her brows. 

“Just let me get dressed.” She’s already getting to her feet, and she moves around to the back of the couch to stand next to him. 

“That’s unfortunate.” Her smile returns, and she leans up on her toes to press a kiss against his cheek. Then she’s gone. He waits a few minutes before going upstairs, turns off the TV and tidies up the kitchen a little, to give her time to change. When he walks into the bedroom, she’s sitting on the edge of the perfectly made bed and tying her shoes. Purple jeans and a black tank top cover most of her body up, and the black leather jacket next to her will cover up the rest. 

“Time to get changed,” she says and nods towards the closet. It doesn’t take him long to find something to wear. Socks, pants, shirt. He’s still buttoning his shirt when Bex joins him in the closet, and he doesn’t stop his movements as she studies him. When he’s done, she grabs his hand and pulls him back out into the bedroom. His holsters, weapons, gloves, boots, and jacket are on the bed. She slips on her own jacket before picking up his shoulder holster, and he moves as needed for her. 

“You’re a strange one,” he remarks as she finishes dressing him. She’s the boss, so shouldn’t he be the one helping her? She seems to enjoy doing little things for him, and he’s not going to ask her to stop. It’s almost strange to admit, but he enjoys her doing little things for him too. 

“So I’ve been told.” She smooths her hands across his chest and shoulders, and her head tips to the side as she looks at him. The move causes her hair to slip over her shoulder, exposing her neck, and he reaches up to touch the darkening red mark over her pulse point. It’ll be even darker by tonight. She smacks his hand away but then laces their fingers together, and he lets her lead the way down to the garage. 

They take Bex’s car to the warehouse district, because it’s quicker than walking on foot or for him to get his own car, but he doesn’t park close to the warehouse they’re going to. They leave on foot from there, and Victor asks Bex to wait for his signal before he slips inside. No one comes down here, so there’s no reason to hide. Victor can see the man strung up inside the center of the warehouse as soon as he steps inside, and he’s still conscious. That’s good. Max and Jade are sitting on a metal table a few feet away; he can hear Max biting down on the hard candy that she favors, and Jade is humming quietly under her breath while tapping her booted feet against the table legs. 

“I hear the boss man,” Jade says in a sing-song voice. It’s dark near the entrance, so the man can’t see him even though his eyes frantically search. His feet are quiet as he walks farther inside, but Jade has excellent hearing. 

“You will pay for this! Whoever you are! You don’t know who you’re messing with!” the man shouts. Jade looks over her shoulder and grins. 

“I told you he wasn’t too bright, didn’t I?” Jade asks as he steps up to the table. He notices the second that the man realizes who he is, because his face pales and his eyes bulge. He’s familiar with the look of fear. 

“Looks like he has a little sense left,” Max says and slips off the table. Max is taller than most women; in her heels, she’s nearly as tall as he is. 

“Thank you for grabbing him, girls. Take a few days off.” The two women exchange looks at his words, because he usually lets them stick around, but they don’t question him. They nod at the same time, even though they’re both looking at him now and not each other, and Jade slips off the table next. 

“Later!” Jade makes like she’s going to walk into him before gracefully twirling away and moving around his side, and Max gives him a two finger salute before walking past him. 

“Have fun!” A few moments later, they’re both gone. He needs to wait for a little while longer before calling for Bex, so he steps closer to the man currently hanging from the ceiling. 

“I know who you are, and so does he.” Victor’s sure that was meant to be a threat, but the man’s voice is weak and he’s visibly shaking. 

“But I don’t know who you are.” He taps a gloved finger against the center of the man’s forehead and then bares his teeth in a smile as the man struggles to move away. Strung up like that, he doesn’t have anywhere to go. He takes a step back and whistles, two short and one long, and the warehouse door opens. She doesn’t try to quiet her footsteps as she walks in, and the man tries to find her in the darkness. 

“Another one of your whores?” the man asks when Bex finally steps into the light. This time Victor points his finger in the man’s face but doesn’t touch him. 

“You’ll pay for that one later.” He looks down at Bex, but she’s looking at the man. Her head tips to the side as she studies him, and she raises one hand to lightly touch the man’s cheek. 

“Who are you?” The hand on his cheek moves down to his chest, and the man’s eyes flick over to Victor before looking back down at Bex. 

“My boss is going to gut you, and there’s nothing the freak behind you can do about it.” Victor looks down just in time to see Bex smile, and her hand moves down the man’s stomach and then slips around him. 

“When we’re done with you, I’m going to tell Victor to gut you. Slowly. You’d be surprised at how long a person can live with their intestines hanging out, if the person knows what they’re doing. And, trust me on this, my Victor is very smart.” Bex pulls out the man’s wallet as he looks between the two of them, and Victor can tell that he’s putting the pieces together. He correctly assumed that Max and Jade work for him, but he’s wrong about Bex. Victor works for her, not the other way around. Bex holds up the opened wallet, and he reads the man’s name from his license over her shoulder. 

“Mark Johnson. How unoriginal,” he drawls and meets the man’s eyes. 

“It’s not like he chose it, I think. Did you choose your name?” Bex tosses the wallet onto the metal table behind them and then turns to face the man again, and the man looks like he’s getting ready to pass out. 

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. Now, Mark, who do you work for?” The man’s jaw drops, but Bex raises a finger in the air before he can speak. “Before you answer, I want you to think very carefully. If you say something sarcastic or annoying, I’ll let Victor do whatever he wants to you. He can hurt you in ways that you can’t imagine without killing you, so answer wisely.”

“You’re taking the fun out of it,” he whispers to Bex. The man’s eyes widen as he gulps nervously, and Bex laughs as she reaches over to pat Victor’s shoulder. 

“He’ll kill me,” Mark chokes out. 

“Oh, sweetie, I’ll kill you. In a few days, after Victor has had his fun. Right now, you need to decide how you want to die. I can make it quick if you just answer my question. Who do you work for?” The man’s eyes bounce between Victor and Bex, and his breathing increases as he begins to panic. After a few moments, Bex huffs and grabs the man’s collar to give him a quick shake. “Today, please!”

“G-Gavin Weatherford!” Bex turns her head to look over at him, and he shrugs. 

“So that’s how he stayed off my radar. Different last name.” She turns back to Mark and shakes him again. “Does the name Gavin Hawthorne mean anything to you?”

“I d-d-don’t…” The man trails off as he pales further, and he swallows before trying again. “He is changing his name to Hawthorne. He’s the lost son of Nathaniel Hawthorne.”

“He should have stayed that way. He could have had a nice long life. So, what’s he planning?” Bex releases Mark’s collar and takes a step back, and he quickly wets his lips before answering. 

“He wants to take over Gotham, now that Falcone is gone, and he wants to find the person who killed Nathaniel Hawthorne.” Mark’s eyes move over to look at Victor, and Bex looks up at Victor before looking at Mark again. 

“He thinks that person is Victor?”

“Everyone in Gotham’s heard of Victor Zsasz. Falcone’s personal assassin. Who else would’ve done it?” Bex’s eyes meet his just as they both start laughing, and Victor drapes an arm across her shoulders and pulls her against his shuddering side. They’re both still laughing when Mark shifts, causing the chain to rattle, and Bex uses her fingers to wipe away the few tears clinging to her cheeks. 

“Who else indeed?” Bex mumbles quietly, mostly to herself but still loud enough for Victor to hear. “One last question, Mark. What do you do for Gavin?”

“Whatever he asks. I’m getting his house ready for him and keeping an eye on Zsasz’s movements. I haven’t been doing too good with that second one.” Victor hums in the back of his throat, because he knows that no one has been able to track him. One thing that he excels at is staying under the radar, staying out of sight. 

“Very good job, Mark. You just hang in there while I have a word with Victor, okay?” Mark nods as Bex grabs his wrist and pulls him over to the metal table, and she easily pulls herself up to sit on top of it. Once she’s sitting comfortably, she pulls on him so that he’s standing in the open space between her thighs. Her hands slip under his jacket and slide against his chest, and he can feel her fingers tapping against his shoulder holster. 

“What are you thinking?” He can see her mind working behind her dark eyes, and she squeezes her knees against his sides for a brief moment. 

“We should use this guy. He can keep reporting to Hawthorne, but we can control what he reports. In between reports, you can work on him. Make sure that he stays loyal to us, for now, you know?” This guy seems a little weak minded, so he should be easy to work over. Three weeks, tops. 

“What should he report?” Bex’s hands still against his chest, and she looks over towards Mark. 

“What does he want to know about Victor?” she asks him. 

“Where he goes, who he’s close to. Things like that,” Mark answers quickly. Most people need a few extra pushes before they start telling all, but this guy hasn’t needed any help at all. Bex looks over at Victor, and her left hand moves up to cup his cheek. 

“He’s looking for loved ones. Classic revenge, I can respect that. Do you have any loved ones, Victor?” Her left palm is rough, definitely scar tissue, but the hold is gentle. Soft, like her voice. 

“No,” he answers honestly. 

“Then we’ll have to give you one, but we’ll work on that later. Your girls, do you trust them?” Some of the newer ones, not so much. 

“I trust Max and Jade. They’re loyal to me and only me.” He pulled them out of Gotham’s gutters; he fed them, clothed them, put a roof over their heads, and gave them purpose. He gave their lives meaning, and that makes them his. 

“Are they half as good as you?” They’ve been with him for the past four years. His first students, his favorites. 

“At the least.” 

“Good. Call them here.” He told them they could have a few days off, but he also knows that they enjoy working. After a quick smile for Bex, he pulls his phone out and calls Max. He hears Jade laugh when he gives the order for them to come back, and Max promises to be there soon before hanging up. He slips his phone back into his jacket pocket, and Bex places her hands against his chest again. 

“What do you want me to tell them?” he asks her. She thinks it over for a moment, and he watches her eyes move as she walks her fingers up and down the buttons on his shirt. After a minute, she answers him. 

“Everything. If you trust them, I do too.”

Five minutes later, Max and Jade walk back into the warehouse. They must not have gone very far when he sent them away, and he looks over his shoulder as they walk closer. Two pairs of dark eyes take in the legs dangling on either side of his body, and their eyes widen just a little when Bex leans around him to wave at them. He waits until they’re standing only a few feet away and then he moves to sit on the table next to Bex. She doesn’t reach out to him, but she does scoot over so that she’s pressed up against his side. 

“Got somethin’ you wanna tell us, sir?” Max asks. Jade is smiling at the two of them, and both women have their arms crossed.

He keeps the explanation as short as possible. He tells them who Bexley Barba is, to start with. The assassin that took down the Hawthorne family is back in Gotham, and he hears Mark make a strangling sound as he tells that part. Max and Jade both look impressed with that information, because everyone in Gotham knows about the complete destruction of the Hawthorne family, but Bex doesn’t see their looks because her eyes are closed as she rests her head on Victor’s shoulder. After that, he moves on to more recent events. He tells them that Don Falcone himself sent Bexley to Gotham to help out Cobblepot, and that she’s only here to make sure that Cobblepot doesn’t fail. He tells them about Nathaniel’s son from his second wife, the one that no one knew about, and that he wants to return to Gotham. Bex wants to kill him for her own personal reasons but also because he poses a threat to Cobblepot. He needs to be dealt with, the sooner the better. 

“Yeah, we can work him over for you. No problem,” Jade says and grins over at the man still hanging from the ceiling. 

“Any questions?” Jade shakes her head, but Max looks between him and Bex carefully. 

“Just one. Which one of you is the boss?” Max asks. 

“She is.” Victor answers without hesitation, and Bex reaches over to lightly squeeze his hand. When he looks down, Bex has her eyes open and is smiling up at him. 

“Two psychopaths sittin’ in a tree, K-I-L-L-I-N-G,” Jade sings quietly. 

“I like her,” Bex whispers. 

“Can you sing?” Bex looks away from Jade and straight ahead at Max, and her eyes flick up to meet Victor’s before returning to Max. 

“When I need to. Why?” The woman against his side sings constantly, usually off-key, but he’s heard her sing properly as well. When she sang for Joey Solomon, she sounded like a professional. 

“Cobblepot’s been lookin’ for a new singer down at the club. It’s the perfect place for you to publicly catch Mister Zsasz’s eye. Don’t you think, Miss Barba?” He needs to publicly care for someone that Gavin Hawthorne can use against him, and it makes sense for Bex to set herself up as bait. Even if someone manages to grab her, she can handle herself. 

“I like her too,” Bex whispers before straightening up. “Do you know what that means, Victor? We get to meet for the first time all over again!” 

“And we get to play with him, right?” Jade asks hopefully and jerks her thumb in Mark’s direction. 

“You do. I’ll be by tomorrow. Soften him up for me?” Jade’s grin is nearly shark like, and Max turns on her heel to smile at the hanging man. 

“We can do that,” Max purrs. 

“Stay or go home?” Victor looks down at Bex as he asks the question, and he watches her think it over. It doesn’t take long, and he knows the answer before her lips part.

“Home, please.” He nods before slipping off the table, but he moves to stand between Bex’s legs instead of walking off. He keeps his back to Bex, and he feels her hands lightly resting against his shoulders for just a moment. The next moment, her arms are looped around his shoulders and her legs are wrapped tight around his middle. His hands tightly grip her thighs, just above her knees, as he pulls her off the table. 

“Call me if he says anything interesting.” With that last request, Victor walks out of the warehouse. He can hear Bex humming quietly in his ear, but he doesn’t know the song. He doesn’t even know the genre. 

“I’ll have to come up with something good before the audition. How do you feel about redheads?” When she goes out, she dresses in different costumes. Wigs, clothes, makeup. He’s seen her change absolutely everything about her appearance, so much so that he could barely even recognize her at times. It always makes him feel…unsettled. 

“No one in Gotham knows who you are, so don’t change anything. Be Bexley.” Her hum is tuneless this time, and her finger flicks against the top button on his shirt. 

“Why?” He can give a list of practical reasons, or he can be honest. To both of them. 

“If we are going to be real, in front of everyone, then I want it to be real. No disguises.” For this to work, they are going to have to be very public. If he has to be so open with his affections, he wants to be able to see the real Bex. Not some strange persona that she’s wearing. 

“You’re kinda sweet, Victor, you know that?” She smacks a kiss against the back of his head before settling against him again, and he smiles as the car comes into view.

**.xXx.**

Later that night, Bex shuffles nervously and pulls at the hem of her shirt. She’s not used to being so exposed outside of her home base, and she keeps running her fingers over her bare arms. After getting home, she called _Oswald’s_ and asked about a singing position. The deep voice had told her to swing by around six, before the club opened, and she had agreed. At Victor’s request, she decided to go as herself. Well, mostly as herself. The name on her license says Bexley Cavanaugh, just to be on the safe side, but she hasn’t changed anything about herself. Her hair is down around her shoulders, in slight waves, and held back with a simple pin. She’s still wearing her purple jeans from earlier, and they’re ripped in a few places to show unscarred skin. Her tank top is black, simple, and shows off a lot of skin. Her arms are bare as well as the top of her chest, which means that she’s showing off a lot of scars and tattoos.

She’s not ashamed of her body, but she knows how people think. She likes covering up so that she can’t be easily recognized, but she also likes avoiding the stares and whispers. Still, Victor told her that he prefers her like this. In her own skin. He’d been very adamant about that, and thinking about his reassurances causes her cheeks to heat up. She lets the bottom of her shirt go and smooths it out against her stomach, because the hem stops right at the tops of her jeans. She paces the length of the room, because she hates waiting, and she thinks back to earlier. Before she came to _Oswald’s_. 

_“I’m wearing the jacket.” She looks over at Victor after she says it, and he slowly shakes his head. He’s sitting on the bed, on top of the blankets, with his back propped up against the headboard. His boots are off and next to the bed, and his legs are crossed at the ankles with his arms crossed over his chest. “But I’m all mangled.”_

_“Come ‘ere.” He crooks a finger at her, and she toes off her shoes before crawling onto the bed. Instead of moving to the space next to him, she moves a leg over his lap and sits on his thighs. His hands raise up and gently grab her right forearm, and he moves her arm up in front of his face._

_There are several puckered scars in seemingly random intervals around her right arm, from just below her elbow to nearly the top of her shoulder. The scars are faded and white, but the skin around them is raised and rough. Victor’s bare fingers move over the ones on her bicep, and she can see the question in his eyes. The question that he won’t ask, not right now, out of respect. It’s that look of respect that does her in._

_“Barbed wire. I got caught in it but didn’t have time to remove it, so it cut a little deeper every time I raised my arm to keep fighting.” His fingers sweep down to just off the center of her right forearm, and his fingers wrap completely around her arm. Two matching scars, a smaller one on the inner part of her forearm and a larger one on top of forearm, both a pale pink color now. The scars are self-explanatory. Bullet wound._

_“And these?” His hand is circled around her wrist now, and the skin there is truly ragged. Scar tissue completely covers her wrist, both of them actually. Scars that come from more than one incident._

_“Ropes and wires. I was restrained quite a bit before I learned how to avoid getting caught.” At that, he releases her right arm and raises her left arm. He touches her wrist first, feeling the nearly identical scars there, before pressing his thumb against her palm. That scar is white and shiny, smooth around the edges but rough in the center, and she answers his question before he can ask. “I grabbed a hot poker. Not my smartest move, but it was better than the alternative.”_

_“Your chest?” he asks as his fingers run up her left arm. Down the center of her sternum, there is a thick scar from the same hot poker being dragged down. She’s not sure where the poker was going to go next, but she wasn’t going to sit around to find out._

_“Mhmm. Those came from a knife. Defensive wounds. I decided my arm was better than my face.” There are several scars streaked down her left forearm, from where she raised her arm to fend off attacks, and the different lines have turned white over the years. Some rough, some smooth. All reminders._

_“Hot poker?” Victor’s fingers lightly press against her left bicep, where a large burn is, and she looks to watch his pale fingers move over the dark pink scar tissue._

_“Stove. I got dragged across it. That’s where the burn on my thigh comes from too.” His hand sweeps over her shoulder and then rests against her chest, where a little bit of a scar is left uncovered. So she tells him about the mistress’s guards and how the last one ranted about carving out her heart before she killed him._

_“You’re a masterpiece.” She snorts at that, quietly, and Victor raises her right arm again. He lifts her arm as he lowers his head, and her breathing slows as his lips slowly travel the same path as his hands. By the time he reaches the top of her chest, her breathing has sped up and her fingers are tightly gripping the front of his jacket._

_“A masterpiece, huh?” The sound of her breathless voice makes her want to laugh, but Victor’s lips are still idly moving across the scar on her chest._

_“Mmm, you don’t think so?” She unclenches her fingers and moves her hands to Victor’s shoulders instead, and she inches forward just a little bit more._

_“I think I was an angry little girl, desperate for revenge and more than a little psychotic, and I was sloppy. These scars remind me to never let my guard down. I’m surprised I’m still alive,” she answers honestly._

_“Do you know what they tell me?” His hands are under her shirt, palms flat against her back, and she arches back into the touch._

_“What’s that?” She wants to stay here with him. Wants to kiss him until she doesn’t know up from down and then curl up against him to sleep. She depends on herself, first and foremost, but there’s something about Victor that makes her feel safe. Maybe it’s because she knows that he’s just as capable as killing as she is._

_“I already knew it took determination to kill the Hawthorne family, but every scar tells me just how dedicated you were. Others would have given up or found another way, but you didn’t run. You embraced the pain and kept fighting. Every mark tells a story. Every part of you is art.”_

_“Such a sweet talker.” She gently holds his jaw with one hand, to raise his face to hers, and she smiles a little before leaning down to kiss him._

“Cavanaugh!” Bex snaps out of the fresh memory as she looks over at the doorway, and she can still feel the hard press of Victor’s fingers against her thighs as she looks up at the large man looking her over. “Not bad. You ready for this?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” The man leads her out of the room and towards the main part of the club, and she moves over to the center of the stage at his insistence. The only people in the bar are the man who fetched her and a much smaller man, and she knows who they are. Butch Gilzean and Oswald Cobblepot. It looks like things are about to get interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I brought in the Zsaszettes! I just couldn’t help myself. They’ll show up quite a bit, so I hope everyone is okay with how I’m writing them so far! I’m pretty much just making up their personalities and backgrounds as I write. 
> 
> In the next chapter, Bex meets Oswald! He’s not going to know who she is, of course, but it’s still going to be interesting. I’m going to try to make it interesting at least. I’d love to know people’s thoughts on how the story is doing! Feedback is important, because I have no idea what I’m doing.


	7. Chapter 7

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap07%201_zpsjgkb0lnv.jpg.html)

“Sing first. We’ll talk after, if you’re worth my time.” Well, Oswald certainly doesn’t hold back. She nods at him and moves over to the piano, and she straightens up her spine after sitting down. Poor posture while playing is just bad form. After a moment and one deep breath, she settles her fingers against the keys and begins to play. As she starts to sing the song properly, she thinks back to her long goodbye with Victor.

_“Everybody loves the things you do. From the way you talk, to the way you move.”_

He’d kissed her like he was trying to make a point, and her lips still feel sensitive from all the attention he paid them. She can feel little points of pain along the backs of her thighs, from where he held her and pulled her closer to him. With her eyes closed like they are now, she can still feel the solid strength of him pressed up against her. Can remember the way their chests and stomachs moved in tandem because of the lack of space between their bodies.

_“Everybody here is watching you, ‘cause you feel like home. You’re like a dream come true.”_

She’d tried pulling back, but he’d been far too tempting. After only drawing in a few quick breaths, she’d bent back down to taste him. He’d let her have complete control of their kiss with a quiet groan, and her fingers had scrambled against the buttons of his shirt. One, two, three. That’s all she’d been able to get undone before her fingers started to shake, but it’d been enough. Warm skin had made her fingertips tingle, and Victor’s stuttering breath had felt…sacred. 

_“You look like a movie. You sound like a song. My God this reminds me, of when we were young.”_

When breathing became important to both of them, they’d been forced to pull apart. Victor had ducked down to move his lips along her neck, and she’d cried out when his teeth found the sensitive spot on her neck. The same spot he’d marked earlier, before they left for the warehouse. Her nails had scraped across the tops of his shoulders as he bit down on her neck, and her skin had felt tight and hot all over.

_“And a part of me keeps holding on, just in case it hasn’t gone. I guess I still care. Do you still care?”_

One hand had been on her hip and the other buried in her hair when her phone went off, a reminder that it was nearly time to leave, and they had both groaned in disappointment. She’d promised him that one day they wouldn’t be interrupted, but Victor had just laughed and then put her shoes on for her. She stood in the doorway before she left, just looking at Victor reclined back on the bed, and she had _ached_. Even now, all she can think about is going home to him. 

_“It was just like a movie. It was just like a song. When we were young.”_ She holds the last note as the music from the piano fades, and she stands up to move back to the center of the stage when she’s done. The lights make it a little difficult to see Oswald’s expression, but he claps after she’s standing at the center of the stage. 

“Beautiful! Don’t you think so, Butch?” He’s still sitting at a table, with Butch standing just behind him, and she can see both of them better now. Her eyes have adjusted to the bright lights, finally. Butch looks her over again, and she resists the urge to make herself fidget under the stare. Normal people fidget under intense stares, but she’s not trying to appear normal. 

“She’s somethin’ else,” Butch agrees. He sounds sincere enough, and her eyes land on the scar on the side of his forehead. _V_. It looks like Victor really did do a number on the big guy. 

“Thank you,” she says and beams a smile at both of them. Victor asked her to be herself, so she’s going to be herself. (Within reason, of course.) 

“Come! Have a drink!” Oswald beckons her with a wave of his hand, so she slips off the edge of the stage and lands easily on her feet. “Butch, get us something to drink. What would you like Miss…I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name?”

“Bexley Cavanaugh, but you can just call me Bex. I have to walk home, so just a glass of water is fine.” She’s standing next to the table now, but she doesn’t sit down until Oswald inclines his head towards the seat opposite him. Only then does she sit down. 

“You heard the lady, Butch. Get her a glass of water.” Butch looks at her for a moment and then moves towards the bar, and Bex moves her eyes over to Oswald. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed the song, Mister Cobblepot. Did you enjoy it enough to give me a job?” Oswald laughs out loud at that, a loud and echoing sound, and Bex smiles. This is either going really well, or the current crime boss of Gotham is about to execute her. 

“Why do you want to work for me?” She thought about this earlier. She doesn’t want to appear desperate, but she needs to get this job. They can always come up with another plan, true, but this is the quickest way to put their plan into action. 

“I’m bored, and I like to sing.” Oswald’s eyes narrow on her, but she holds still. Butch places a glass filled with water in front of her, and she looks up at him. “Thank you, Butch.”

“She’s got manners. I like that,” Butch says as he stands behind Oswald’s chair again. She reaches out to grab the glass, and she sees Oswald eyeing the marks along her arm. Her left arm. Then his eyes move over to what he can see of her right arm. 

“Interesting look. Accident?” 

_“Be Bexley.”_

“Bad childhood.” It’s close to an honest answer. Something shifts in Oswald’s expression, softens it, and she swallows down a little more water before placing the glass back on the table. 

“I hope whoever did it is six feet under.” She arches a brow while tipping her lips into a half-smile, which is close to an answer. It makes Oswald laugh and clap his hands once, and Butch grins at her. Looks like non-answers are just as good as verbal ones. 

“Am I employed?” Oswald leans forward, but she stays leaned back in her chair. 

“When can you start working?”

“Whenever you want me to.”

“Good answer!” Oswald says as he slams his hand down on the table. It would make most people jump, but she stays right where she is. “Be here around eight tomorrow, to fill out paperwork and then prepare. We close at sunrise, but you can leave after two. Any questions?”

“Dress code?” She normally just wears whatever is comfortable, but she’s sure that nightclub singers are supposed to dress a certain way. Maybe she should actually wear a dress?

“I don’t care. Would you like me to get someone to drive you home?” A criminal but still a gentleman; she just might start liking Oswald Cobblepot. 

“Thanks, but I got it. See ya tomorrow, Mister Cobblepot, Butch.” 

“I like her, boss. I think she’ll be good for business,” she hears Butch say before she slips outside. It makes her smile, small and just for herself, and she hums a little as she walks the streets of Gotham. She knows these streets, intimately. When the foster homes became too much, she escaped to the streets. Just one of many trying to survive in this city.

She’s been walking for ten minutes, maybe, when a small body knocks into her. It causes her to stumble back a few steps, and she looks down to see messy red hair. Under that, a pair of blue eyes peer up at her from a pale and dirty face. A street kid. She’s wearing a green striped sweater, but it’s thin and ragged. That’s not enough to keep someone warm, not with how cold it gets at night. The girl blinks before straightening up, and her cheek twitches as her eyes narrow. 

“Got any money?” Definitely a child of Gotham. 

“Sure I do, and I’m in a good mood too. How about we go buy you a blanket and some hot food?” A blanket will last longer than a jacket, and it can double as something soft for her to sleep on. 

“What’s the angle?” The girl’s voice is definitely suspicious, so she’s a smart one. That’s good. The smart ones survive longer. 

“No angle. I don’t like eating alone. You’re free to say no.” The girl thinks it over, she even crosses her arms as her eyes look directly into Bex’s, and she waits the girl out. 

“I’m Ivy. You are?”

“Bex.” The girl nods and then squares her shoulders. 

“I want a burger.”

“I like burgers, so we can do that. Know a good place?” Instead of answering, Ivy spins on her heel and starts walking. With a quiet laugh, Bex follows after her. While the small girl leads her to some place good to eat, hopefully, Bex pulls out her phone and sends a quick text to Victor. 

_Got the job. Feeding an orphan. Want anything?_

Of course, she’s not sure that Ivy is an orphan, but the kid has that look about her. Most of the kids living on the streets have either been orphaned or abandoned. The abandoned kids look angry, while the orphaned ones usually look resigned. Bex could be reading the girl wrong, but she’s usually good at reading people. The young girl leads her to a rundown looking diner, but the inside is clean. She walks to a back booth with her head held high, and Bex follows behind her with an amused smile. Bex slips into the booth opposite the girl and is surprised when a waitress appears almost instantly. Ivy orders a vegetarian burger and fries, with a vegan chocolate milkshake, and Bex smiles up at the waitress. 

“I’ll have the same.” The woman huffs and walks off, and Bex shrugs before looking across the table. Before she can say anything else, she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. She easily pulls it out and reads the simple message from Victor. 

_Don’t bring home any strays & I’ll fix my own dinner_

“Is that your boyfriend?” Ivy asks the question while she’s placing the phone back into her pocket, and Bex thinks it over. The word seems juvenile, but it sort of fits. 

“I guess he is.”

“You must really like him. You smiled really big.” Observant little thing. Bex drums her fingers on the tabletop and slowly nods her head. 

“Yeah, I like him. If I didn’t like him, he wouldn’t be my boyfriend.” This time the girl nods slowly, as if imitating her, and she places her small hands on top of the table. 

“You shouldn’t marry him.” That’s an odd thing to say. Don’t most people encourage marriage?

“Oh? Why’s that?” Ivy leans forward, so Bex does the same. It’s almost like they’re sharing secrets. 

“I heard my mom say that my dad changed after they got married. That’s when he got mean,” Ivy whispers. Oh. _Oh_. The poor thing. Bex considers reaching forward to grab the girl’s hands but decides against it in the end. Touching without consent isn’t very nice, and it’s not allowed. 

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll keep that in mind, okay?” The thought of her getting married is ludicrous. She’s sure Victor would laugh if she mentioned it to him; actually, she might mention it to him just to see him laugh. 

“What do you do?” Bex leans back in her seat and bites down on her lip to stop herself from smiling when Ivy copies her. The little thing is just too cute. 

“Starting tomorrow night, I’m going to be a singer at a nightclub. Sounds fun, huh?” The waitress snorts as she sets their milkshakes down, and Bex decides not to pay her any mind. Ivy immediately pulls her milkshake closer to her and sits up as straight as she can to start gulping it down, but Bex only takes small sips of hers. She’s never had a vegan milkshake, but she can’t taste the difference. Tastes good to her. 

“Do you live in a nice place?” Her penthouse apartment is nice. One of the nicer places that she’s ever lived.

“I do. A penthouse,” she answers honestly. Ivy pulls away from her straw with a quiet sigh, and Bex notes that half of the drink is gone. Impressive. 

“I stayed in a nice place once.” For some reason, Bex is sure that the nice place wasn’t Ivy’s home with her parents. Tragic. The small apartment that Bex lived in with her mother was especially tiny, just one room, but it was home. 

“Where do you stay now?” Since Ivy is drinking down her milkshake, Bex takes another small sip of her drink while waiting for her to answer. 

“Around,” Ivy shrugs. A few big sips later, Ivy’s milkshake is gone. Definitely impressive. That’s around the time that the waitress drops off their food, and Bex makes sure to catch the woman’s eye. 

“Another chocolate milkshake for her, thanks.” The waitress makes another noise in her throat before walking off, and Bex has to take a slow breath to cool her anger. There’s no need to be so rude. She turns back to face Ivy, but the girl is already making a dent in her burger. Bex follows suit and is surprised when the food is actually good. 

“Why’re you doing this?” Ivy asks after her burger is gone. Bex has been pinching bites off of her own burger, and she turns her plate around so that she can start picking at her fries. Thankfully, her mouth is full and stops her from smiling when Ivy reaches across the table to grab her burger. The waitress finally drops off Ivy’s milkshake, but the girl is too busy eating to reach for it. 

“I was eleven when my mom died. I had foster homes, but I slept on the streets most nights. Know what I remember most?” Ivy shakes her head, because her cheeks are stuffed full, so Bex continues. “Being hungry. The foster parents never wanted to spare food for us, so it felt like I was always hungry. Know what I mean?”

“It’s always wet,” Ivy says with a small downward tilt of her lips. It’s close to a childish pout, but Bex knows what the girl means. It rains so much in Gotham. 

“Yeah, this city has a serious rain problem. You got something over your head at night?” She’s not going to ask if the girl has a roof over her head, because she can already guess the answer to that question. 

“I got something.” Ivy drinks on her milkshake now that the burger is gone, and Bex pushes her fries across the table. The girl starts packing them in, clearly hungry, and Bex just watches as she finishes both of their fries. This girl might not know it, not yet, but that hunger is never going to go away. Even now, years later, Bex still eats her food as quick as she can because she remembers the gnawing feeling of slow starvation. 

Twenty minutes later, Bex stands in front of Ivy outside of a small department store. The girl has a thick blanket hanging over her shoulder and a thick sleeping bag tucked under her other arm, and Bex wishes she could do more. There’s nothing she can really do for the girl though. Kids living on the street is just another part of life. She lived on Gotham’s streets for a while herself, and she turned out all right. (Well, she turned into an assassin, but that’s an acceptable career choice in Gotham.) So instead of offering the girl a place to sleep in her apartment, she smiles and tucks her hands into her pants pockets. 

“If you get into trouble, kid, go to _Oswald’s_ and ask for Bex. You know where _Oswald’s_ is?” Ivy nods and adjusts her grip on the sleeping bag. 

“Place with the umbrella outside. Used to be a fish.”

“That’s the one. Take care, kid.” Ivy nods and walks around her, heading south and probably to the Narrows, and Bex hears her call out over her shoulder. 

“Take care, Bex!” Cute kid. Bex counts to ten before she starts walking, north towards Uptown, and she keeps her head down as she walks through the city. The closer she gets to her apartment, the cleaner the streets become. There’s less homeless people milling around, and the sidewalks are a little cleaner. 

“What smells so good?” she asks as she walks into her kitchen. Victor looks over his shoulder at her, and she takes in another deep breath as she leans against the counter next to the stove. 

“Spaghetti.” The pot is huge, and she watches as Victor sprinkles in some spices. 

“Can I have a bowl? A big one?” Her stomach feels a little empty, and something as simple as spaghetti should not smell that good. Is Victor magic? 

“Didn’t you just eat with some little street rat?” She should correct that, but he’s not exactly wrong. 

“I gave her most of my food. Her name is Ivy and…”

Bex spends the next ten minutes telling Victor all about the little girl, and supposed orphan, that bumped into her on the street. She also briefly mentions entertaining the idea of killing their waitress but that she decided not to in the end. Mostly because she wanted to come home. As she talks, Victor fixes them both a large bowl of spaghetti and carries them out onto the patio. She’d paused long enough to suggest eating in the living room, but Victor had just raised a brow at her before walking out onto the patio. So she’d shrugged and followed after him, and she is now enjoying her first bite since she’s done talking about Ivy. 

“How’d it go with Cobblepot?” She washes down the spaghetti with a sip of water, and she taps her fingers against the side of the glass. 

“I got the job! I think they both liked me,” she answers with a smile. Then she immediately digs back in. 

“They?” Victor is eating at a slower pace, so she should probably slow down, but she’s really hungry. It’s not like Victor has never seen her quickly scarf her meals down, so why change now?

“Oswald and Butch.” Something changes in Victor’s expression, and Bex leans towards him to try and figure out what. It’s something about Butch’s name that he doesn’t like, but what? “You don’t like Butch?”

“I don’t like Butch liking you.” It’s not jealousy coloring his tone. She knows what that sounds like, and this isn’t it. She reaches out with one hand and lays her palm flat against Victor’s forearm, and she can feel how tense he is through the fabric of his shirt. 

“Care to elaborate?” she asks. She watches his jaw work, grinding his teeth together, and waits patiently for him to answer her. While she waits, she keeps one hand on his arm and uses the other to shovel another forkful of food into her mouth. What? She’s multitasking. 

“Butch was a challenge. He was strong-willed and stubborn. There’s a possibility that he’ll break his conditioning one day.” Strong-willed people are hard to…condition, that much is definitely true, so Victor is probably worrying about her future safety. Especially since they’re going through with their plan to be close in public. There’s a strong chance that Butch won’t like Victor, which would make her a logical target if his conditioning does break down. 

“You don’t have to worry about me. Butch is a big guy, but I can take him.” She says it with a wink, and Victor narrows his eyes on her. “I can. I’ve killed guys bigger than him, no problem. Well, except for that one time. Totally an isolated incident though.”

“Mhmm. So you got the job. What else did Cobblepot say?”

Dinner is eaten between run-on sentences about her audition, and Victor listens with his full attention. Which is appreciated, because she keeps getting distracted. She even talks about how she liked Oswald’s hair at one point, and Victor only gave her a _look_ as she rambled on. When she’s done talking, and eating, Victor gathers their plates up and takes them into the kitchen. She picks up from there and starts washing the few dishes that have accumulated over the day, while Victor stands behind her and distracts her. That’s not fair. She’s sure Victor doesn’t mean to distract her, but that doesn’t make him any less distracting. He stands behind her, with one arm wrapped securely around her waist and the other across her torso so his fingers can brush the exposed parts of the scar on her chest, and his chin is resting on her shoulder. 

“I want to go to bed,” she says once the dishes are rinsed and put away. She’s still standing in front of the sink, with Victor standing at her back, and she feels him shift against her as he stands to his full height. 

“You’ve had a long day. Meeting two of my girls, auditioning for Cobblepot, feeding a street rat…you must be exhausted.” Both of his arms are around her waist now, and he loosens his hold just enough for her to turn around. She meets his dark eyes with a smile and then leans up on her toes so that she can run her nose along his jawline. She skims her lips down his jawline as she lowers herself back to her feet and finds his eyes again before she speaks. 

“Who said anything about sleeping?”

She squeals as Victor easily throws her over his shoulder, but the high-pitched sound quickly turns into a laugh as he reaches the stairs in a few quick strides. She knew having long legs was good for something. He takes the stairs two at a time, with her laughing the whole way because of the way her body bounces with the movement, but her laugh is cut off as she’s flipped over and lands on the mattress. Her legs hang off the end of the bed on either side of Victor’s thighs, and she spreads her arms out across the bed. Since she’s lying in the middle, her fingers don’t even reach the edges. 

“Are you waiting for a written invitation?” she asks when Victor just continues to look at her. 

“Just admiring,” he drawls out and skims a fingertip along the top of her thigh.

“You could always admire me with my clothes off.” She smiles after she says it and then laughs again as Victor grabs her arms and pulls her into a sitting position. His hands lightly touch against her ribs as he reaches for the bottom of her shirt, and she holds her arms up so that he can pull it over her head. Once it’s off, she falls back onto the bed and raises a brow expectantly.

“Going to make me do all the work?” he asks. His fingers deliberately touch against the scars on her stomach as he reaches for the button on her pants, but he bends down to tug off her shoes and socks once her jeans are open. The tease. 

“Think of it as opening a present.” His hands move up her legs, slowly, until he’s pulling the denim off of her. She raises her hips quickly and then helps him by wiggling her legs free from the tight fabric, and she sighs once she’s finally free. All that’s left now is a matching bra and panty set, both purple, and she’s happy that she’s wearing something a little cuter than her usual functional undergarments. Even though she’s sure that Victor doesn’t really care about what she’s still wearing.

“A present all for me?” She sits up before he can reach for her, and she brings her hands up to his shirt collar. His shoulder holster is already off, which makes this a little easier for her. 

“It’s certainly not for anyone else.” The first three buttons come undone easily, and she smiles in triumph when the next three slip free as well. She untucks his shirt and then runs her hands up bare skin as she pushes it off of him. The last time he was shirtless, she didn’t get to truly appreciate it. She’s not making that mistake this time. 

He’s lean and strong, from over a decade of staying in killing shape, and he tenses beautifully under her mapping fingers. When she reaches his pants, he holds still and doesn’t make any move to help her. Or hurry her. He’s letting her be in control. That’s nice of him, but she wants to lose a little control tonight. She quickly pops the button and pulls down the zipper, and Victor does move now to help her get his pants down and off. Her hand grabs his as she starts to move towards the head of the bed, and she takes a moment to just watch the way his muscles move under his skin as he crawls towards her. Once he’s even with her, she loops her arms around his neck and pulls him down against her. _There_. That’s what she was missing earlier. She wants to feel his skin against hers, and she arches up so that she can feel more of him. 

Apparently she gave some kind of signal, because Victor stops hesitating. Lips move against hers as hands move over her exposed skin, and she bends her knees so she can hold him closer to her. He pulls back with a quiet groan, a deep sound that makes her thighs tense, and moves his lips down to her neck. She pushes on his shoulders, to let him know that she doesn’t want to hold back, and feels him grin against her collarbone. Weapon callused hands move around to her back, and a few fingers undo the clasp to her bra. She pulls the fabric off and slings it away from the bed, and then moans loud enough that she’d normally feel self-conscious but is too consumed with the rough feel of Victor’s lips against the sensitive peaks of her breasts to really care. 

As good as it feels to have his lips, tongue, and teeth dancing across her chest…she wants more. She’s never wanted more before, but this is different. This is Victor. He must be able to feel her urgency, because he moves down to suck and bite marks on her stomach in between the scars. After she’s worked up a small sweat and has started to breathe completely out of rhythm, he moves lower. His thumbs brush across her hips, just above the line of her panties, and she lifts her head up. She wants to speak, to reassure him, but she’s not sure what her voice will sound like. So she nods and shifts her hips, side to side. The panties are quickly pulled off and tossed in the same direction as her bra, and her quiet gasp echoes in the room as teeth make a spot just above her knee. Her hands blindly scramble until they land on his shoulders, and she pulls her knees up as she pulls on him. 

“So impatient,” he whispers against the inside of her thigh. 

The whine she makes sounds unlike any other sound she’s ever created, high and in the back of her throat, and strong hands push her thighs down against the bed. The move just makes her spine arch, and she digs her nails down into Victor’s back. His fingers spread apart and press down hard enough to bruise, and she nearly begs in her frustration as his tongue maps out the intricate lines of her thigh tattoo. Just when she’s about to give in and actually beg, he moves. She cries out as he licks up the center of her before sealing his lips around the most sensitive part of her, and his hands move to grip her hips to keep her from pushing up against the feeling. She’s never allowed anyone to do this before, so this is new. She’s starting to see what all the fuss is about. 

Now, Victor isn’t hesitant or gentle. The way his tongue moves is nearly violent and exactly what she needs, and she makes a sound close to a scream when he moves his hands down. One hand joins his mouth between her legs, and she’s not in the right state of mind to look up and see where his other hand is. Not that she cares, as long as he doesn’t stop what he’s doing. Every inch of her is burning and tight. It feels like she could fall apart at any moment. She knows what an orgasm is, she’s given herself plenty over the years, but this…this is something different. Something that’s making her feel like she’s slowly going crazy, and her thighs shake as she weakly pushes her hips up. She needs…She needs…

Bex forces her eyes to open and then manages to lift her head. She sees her own tense body first, covered in sweat and darkening red marks, and then looks farther down. Victor’s eyes are already on her, and they look completely black as they watch her. He’s been watching her this entire time. She sees the dark pink flash of his tongue just as two fingers curl inside of her, and she screams out something that resembles his name as her orgasm crashes through her. Her head kicks back against the bed as her feet dig down into the mattress, and everything goes quiet and dark for a moment. Or several moments. It’s hard to keep track of time when she feels like this. 

The next thing she’s aware of is Victor lying next to her, propped up on his elbow on his side and smiling smugly down at her. She wants to tell him that he shouldn’t smile like that, but she’s sure that she just blacked out a little and she’s still breathing a little hard. He’s earned the right to be a little smug. So instead she reaches up and places one hand on his cheek, and she lets her thumb trace across his swollen bottom lip. Her thighs feel numb and her chest feels hot, and she makes a quiet sound when Victor’s tongue sweeps across the pad of her thumb. 

“Can we do that again?” she asks a moment later. Her voice sounds normal enough. Just a little hoarse. Victor laughs, low and deep, and her legs shift. 

“Later. I think we need a shower and a nap first.” When she pouts, Victor leans over and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Later. I promise.”

“I’m expecting one hell of a good morning,” she says as Victor slips off the bed. He easily pulls her to the edge and then scoops her up into his arms, and she lets her head roll against his shoulder as he walks towards the bathroom. 

“You got it, boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down! I know Bex’s first meeting with Oswald might seem a little _meh_ , but I’ve got plans for how their friendship is going to progress. Remember, this is taking place between episodes 3 and 4 of Season 2. It’ll be a few chapters before I’m caught up with Episode 4, which is when Oswald meets with Galavan for the first time, and there’s going to be a lot of Oswald-Bex interaction before then. Because I think they’d be good friends, don’t you?
> 
> Also, Ivy will be in the story quite a bit. I’ve already got several scenes planned for her, because I like the idea of Bex (and Victor) pseudo-adopting a little street kid. I’d say more, but I don’t want to give away any surprises!
> 
> In the next chapter, there’s more Oswald! And more Ivy! And more Bex and Victor, of course! The next chapter is finished and I’m working on the one after it, so I should be able to update pretty soon. I’d still love to know people’s thoughts though! Am I messing up anyone’s characterization? Is there something (or someone) that you want to see? 
> 
> Song used: _When We Were Young_ by Adele.


	8. Chapter 8

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap08_zpsczbcnpau.jpg.html)

“You seem distracted.” Victor looks over at Max but doesn’t say anything, and Jade slips around him to stand next to Max and look at him.

“Does he look glowy to you?” Jade stage whispers to Max. 

“No.” The two women ignore him and exchange a look, and Victor turns back to the long metal table in front of him. 

“Now that you mention it, he does seem more relaxed than usual. Have fun with Miss Bex today, sir?” Max asks. At his request, the girls have agreed not to use Bex’s surname. Just in case anyone happens to overhear. That won’t happen here, but it’s easier for them to call her one name consistently. 

“What I do in my private time is none of your concern,” he answers slowly and taps a finger against the edge of the table. 

“Ooh, must have been good,” Jade whispers. 

“Don’t you two have better things to do?” he snaps. Jade giggles while Max snorts, but they both turn their attention away from him. 

He’d woken up this morning to Bex’s tongue teasing along the lower part of his stomach, and his day only improved from there. They spent the entirety of the day in various stages of undress, and he can feel dull aches across his body every time he moves. Bex matches him in strength and flexibility, and they’re both covered in bruises and scratches from their day of…experimentation, as Bex calls it. They haven’t even actually had sex yet, and Victor’s not sure if either of them will survive their first time together. It’s not a bad way to die, now that he’s thinking about it. He reaches up to lightly press against the right side of his chest and feels the scratches there throb just a little. No, not a bad way to die at all.

**.xXx.**

“Is this alright, Mister Cobblepot? I can run home and change if it’s not,” Bex says and waves a hand over her torso. She’s wearing a pair of lacy black shorts that stop high up on her thighs and a pair of knee high gray boots, which means that the scar on her left thigh and the tattoo on her right thigh is on display. Thankfully, there are no visible bruises on her thighs. Her upper body is a different story, which is why she’s wearing a tight gray sweater.

“You look fine. Sit. Write.” She sits down in the chair on the other side of Oswald’s desk and picks up the pen on the top of the small pile of papers. Oswald is absorbed in something else, so she lets out a quiet sigh and starts filling in the blank spaces. 

“Name, Bexley Cavanaugh,” she whispers under her breath.

While she writes down the information that she has memorized, she thinks back to earlier. Today has been…different, but she had more fun today that she’s had in a long time. Bruises from the stairs line her back, from where her and Victor rolled down them before coming to a stop midway down and hadn’t been able to hold back any longer, and those are far from the only marks on her body. She’s explored her own body over the years, learned what she likes and what she doesn’t, but letting someone else learn what makes her tick is exciting. Almost as exciting as discovering what makes Victor lose some of his iron control. 

“Are you feeling well?” At the sound of Oswald’s voice, she blinks to get rid of some of the grittiness in her eyes and then looks across the large desk. 

“I feel fine. Why?” She feels better than fine. She feels satisfied and energized in a whole new way. What will it be like when they have sex? She could barely walk earlier, her legs still feel unstable, and they haven’t even made it to the main event yet. 

“You look…flushed.” There’s a slight smile on Oswald’s face, like he’s trying not to make her feel uncomfortable, and she feels more heat rush into her cheeks. Her naturally tan complexion usually makes it hard for people to tell when she’s blushing, but she always knows because she can _feel_ it. 

“A little nervous, I guess,” she says and shrugs. Oswald nods at that, like her explanation makes perfect sense, and turns back to his own paperwork. It’s a good thing he didn’t press her. She can’t exactly tell him that she was distracted by thoughts of his number one hitman on his knees for her, can she? 

Thirty long minutes later, the paperwork is finished and filed away. She’s sure that Oswald, or Butch, has already run a background check on the name she gave them last night. There’s nothing big for them to find. She’s just Bexley Cavanaugh. Orphaned, relatively well-off, and recently moved to Gotham after spending a few years in Europe. Nothing special and no red flags. Once she’s done with everything, Oswald dismisses her to prepare for the night. She’s introduced to the band provided to her, and she shakes off her thoughts of the day as she smiles at them. It’s time to get to work.

**.xXx.**

The night passes quickly, and Bex enjoys herself more than she thought she would. There’s something nice about a whole room of people cheering for her and demanding an encore when she announces that she’s done for the night, and she doesn’t turn them down. She sings for half an hour longer than she originally planned, and she forces herself to breathe evenly when people touch her arms and back as she walks through the crowd afterwards. None of the touches are advances or violent, so she allows it. For now. She ducks around bodies as much as she’s able, but the nightclub is pretty packed.

“Miss Cavanaugh!” She grins up at Butch and tries not to look at the shiny scar carved into the side of his head. 

“Hello, Butch! Please, call me Bex!” The big guy smiles at her and jerks a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of Oswald’s office. 

“Boss wants a word!” It’s so loud that they have to yell to be heard, so Bex just nods her head and starts that way. She weaves around people until the crowd thins, and she reaches up to smooth her hair down before stepping into Oswald’s office. It’s mostly empty and quiet after she closes the door, and she takes a minute to take a breath before stepping farther into the room. 

“They loved you! I knew hiring you was a good idea. Please, sit, Miss Cavanaugh,” Oswald says and gestures to the chair she sat in earlier. She eases herself down into the seat and watches as Oswald stands up. 

“Thanks, sir. And call me Bex, please.” He leans against the front of his desk, facing her, and extends a water bottle. She takes it with a grateful smile and then quickly swallows some down. Oswald twists around to grab his own glass, but Bex is willing to bet her hard earned money that he’s not drinking water. 

“Here’s to your first successful night, Bex,” he says and holds his glass out. Bex taps it with her water bottle, and they’re both quiet as they take long sips. First successful night, with hopefully many more to come. “How long have you been in Gotham?”

“Two weeks.” It’s not a complete lie. She’s been back in Gotham for a little over two weeks now, but Bexley Cavanaugh isn’t originally from Gotham. 

“Where did you live before?” Ah, she has been wondering when Oswald would question her. He must have wanted to see if she was worth it first. 

“I was born and raised in Metropolis,” she answers slowly. Oswald raises a brow but doesn’t say anything, so she continues. “After my parents died in a car accident when I was eighteen, I finished high school and then left the States. I’ve spent the last five years traveling around Europe, and I just felt like it was time to come back.”

“Why Gotham and not Metropolis? Your home town is just a bridge away.” He raises a hand to point in the basic direction of where Metropolis lies, and she shrugs her shoulders. 

“I remember hearing people talking about Gotham while I was growing up. It always seemed like more happened over here, so I thought I’d see for myself.” She’s been all over the world, and there really is no place like Gotham. 

“And what do you think so far?” She notices the way that he breathes in deep and is thankful for Victor’s advice from earlier. 

_“You have to change body wash.” Victor is a warm solid weight behind her while she waits for the shower to heat up, and she tips her head back against his chest to meet his eyes._

_“And why would I do that?” She likes her coconut scented body wash; it’s not an overpowering smell, and she’s grown attached to it._

_“Cobblepot smelled your body wash on me. I’ve seen people underestimate his intelligence. I’m not going to be one of them.” Her eyes flutter shut as Victor’s hands sweep down her ribcage, and she leans up on her toes as he grips her hips._

_“You really think he’ll be able to tell that we already know each other because of my body wash?” She can hear the incredulity in her tone, despite the slight breathiness of her voice now, and steam starts to fill the bathroom._

_“I’m not known for associating with anyone. He’ll remember.” With a quiet groan, she pushes away from him and digs around under the sink. She pops back up with a bottle in her hand and waves it in front of Victor._

_“But I’m keeping my vanilla perfume.”_

Now, as Oswald clearly takes note of the muted smell of her body wash and perfume under the slight smell of sweat from performing, she’s glad that Victor said something. She smells like strawberries and vanilla, which is drastically different from coconut and vanilla. Oswald smiles at her, and she takes another quick drink from her water bottle as she thinks about how to answer. She had this rehearsed earlier, because she thought he would question her immediately. It’s taking her a moment to get it all straight in her head. 

“I still haven’t really met anyone or done anything,” she shrugs. That’s true too. She met Victor outside of Gotham, and she hasn’t gone out as herself. 

“How’d you know I was looking for a singer?” She thought this one over for a solid hour, after lunch, and she’s still not sure how her explanation will hold up. Looks like it’s time to find out. 

“I overheard two people talking about it in the store. They couldn’t see me, I was an aisle over, and they were talking kinda quiet. One of ‘em said that the nightclub was looking for singers, and the other asked if he meant _Oswald’s_. The guy said yeah, but they moved off after that so I couldn’t hear what else they said. So I looked up the number and called. I guess it was my lucky day.” She smiles up at him wide enough to dimple her cheeks, because she’s been told that her dimples make her seem harmless. 

“Lucky for me too, it seems,” Oswald says with a quiet laugh. Laughing is generally good, right? “So no friends in the city yet?”

“No, not yet. I’m hoping that singing here will change that.” Oswald makes a quiet sound as he stands back up, and Bex sips at her water as she watches him walk around the desk. Once he’s sitting, he props his hands on top of the desk and looks right at her. 

“Would you like a ride home?” She’s never sure if he’s planning on killing her at any given moment, but she still likes that he’s such a gentleman. 

“I think I’ll walk. Thanks for the offer though, Mister Cobblepot.” She gets to her feet but holds onto the water bottle, and Oswald’s eyes follow her movement. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“I’ll be here.” She gives him a wave before opening the door, and it’s hard to tell but she thinks he looks amused at the gesture. The door closes behind her, and she’s surprised to see that people are still packed inside. It’s good for business, she supposes. She sneaks around the crowd without being recognized and walks out of the front door, and she tips her head back to look at the sky. Seeing the stars isn’t really possible, but the night air feels cool against her overheated skin. 

“Why’re you doing that?” Her head snaps down and to the side, and blue eyes peer up at her.

“Ivy?” The girl looks okay, but looks can be deceiving. At the sound of her name, the small girl uncurls from the ball she’s sitting in and stands up while keeping her back pressed against the wall. She’s still dressed the same, still wearing an oversized green striped sweater, and the sleeves hang down over her hands even as she reaches up to push the hair out of her face. “Everything okay?”

“I’m hungry.” Oh, so she’s here looking for food. Bex can work with that. 

“Burgers?” The girl nods and starts walking, and Bex follows after her with a small smile.

They go to the same diner and order the same thing as last time, even though it’s three in the morning as opposed to seven at night, and the same waitress looks half asleep as she serves them. Bex answers Ivy’s questions about what it’s like to be a singer in the nightclub, and Bex embellishes a little for the child’s amusement as they eat. When they’re done eating, Ivy tells her to take care before walking south again. Bex can’t be sure, but she has a feeling that Ivy will be back tomorrow night. Or morning, depending on how you look at it. She made sure to tell the girl that she was working tomorrow night, so at least this way she’ll know that the girl is getting one good meal a day.

The walk back to her apartment isn’t a long one, mostly because she keeps her strides long, and she’s humming as she walks inside. The lights are off in the living room and kitchen, but she can hear running water overhead. The shower. That means Victor is home. Her humming picks back up as she shimmies up the stairs, and she’s happy to note that the lamp is the only light on in the bedroom and the blanket on the bed has been turned down. The bathroom door is open, with light spilling out, and she skips her way over to it. As quietly as possible, she starts stripping off her clothes. 

Her shorts and sweater go into the white laundry basket, the one for clothes to be washed, and she carefully looks at her white bra after taking it off. There’s a few scrapes on her back that had bled just a little, and she happily notes that her bra is still clean. Good. The black laundry basket is for clothes ruined beyond repair, and she wants to keep that one as empty as possible. Although, if she’s not mistaken, Victor’s clothes are in that one. He must have had a messy day. Her panties join the rest of her clothes, and she tiptoes her way over to the shower.

Just as she’s reaching out to pull the shower curtain back, a wet hand snaps out and hauls her into the shower with a firm grip on her wrist. She yelps as she’s lifted into the air and has her back pressed against the wall, but the sound turns into a laugh as Victor ducks down to nip at her right shoulder. She secures her legs around his waist while her arms come up to wrap around his neck, and she lets her head fall back as he sucks marks along the top of her chest. She missed this. She missed _him_. 

“Fun day?” she asks when she catches her breath. Victor’s teeth nip at her chin, lightly, and then he leans forward to run his tongue along the shell of her ear. 

“He’ll be broken in a week.” His voice sounds more like a growl against her ear, and she tightens her legs to pull him even closer. She doesn’t want any space between them. 

“I guess we both had a good night then.” He pulls back so that she can see his face, and her heart rate increases when he smiles at her. That dark look in his eyes is promising trouble, and she can feel her body tensing in anticipation. 

“I think it’s about to get better.” She’ll have to be careful about visible marks, but there’s no way she’s turning that down. Her laugh is drowned out by the sound of his name, and it looks like she’s got a new definition for the best way to end a night.

**.xXx.**

Bex’s second night singing at _Oswald’s_ is about the same as the first night. She sings until two but then takes requests from the crowd for another half hour. After she steps off the stage, Butch catches her eye and then looks towards Oswald’s office. After a quick smile, she makes her way to his office and is then surprised when the crime boss makes small talk with her for a solid thirty minutes. It’s hard to tell, but she thinks he’s lonely. He laughs quietly when they talk, so he must find her amusing. She doesn’t mind being Oswald’s friend, and she likes his company well enough. Once their conversation winds down, he offers to have her driven home. She declines and then leaves the nightclub, and she isn’t surprised when Ivy is outside waiting for her.

This time, they walk side-by-side on their way to the diner. Ivy orders their vegetarian meal, and Bex smiles in amusement as the small girl confidently orders for both of them. While they eat, Ivy talks a little more about herself. Her last name is Pepper, and it takes Bex a few moments to place the name. Mario Pepper was framed for the murder of the Waynes and then killed by the GCPD, and Ivy tells her that her mother died not long after. The girl rolls her eyes when she mentions being adopted and running away right afterwards, and she says she doesn’t mind living on the streets. At least there, she can be herself. 

Walking home gives her time to think, because she keeps seeing the flat look in Ivy’s eyes. Orphaned and resigned, just like so many other street kids. It’s sad, but that’s life. Maybe she’s getting soft? Victor is already in bed when she gets home, so she quickly washes off and then joins him. He holds her close while she talks about her night, and he tells her that she’s not going soft. Instead, he asks her if Ivy reminds her of herself. In a way, she does. To distract herself from that new thought, she tells Victor about her talk with Oswald. He agrees that being close to him is a good idea and can only help them in the long run, and she falls asleep tucked up against his side mid-sentence about her song list for the next night. 

The next afternoon, when Bex finally wakes up, Victor is gone. There’s a note on the bedside table telling her that he had things to take care of, so she spends the day at home. It’s a lazy day, for the most part, until she starts to get ready for her night. She keeps it simple, just a plain black dress and flats, but she decides to do a little extra to stave off boredom. Paints her fingernails and toenails, picks out a little jewelry, and even applies a little bit of makeup. Nothing to drastically change her appearance. Just little things. By the time she’s done, it’s finally late enough for her to start towards _Oswald’s_.

Her third night of working starts off the same as the previous two nights. Around midnight, she’s halfway through a song when she notices the back part of the crowd shifting. It’s not the usual flow of bodies; they’re hurriedly moving out of the way. The air inside of the nightclub feels different too, thicker and heavier. She catches sight of a pink streak just over the top of some feathered hair in the back, but she manages not to miss a note as shock runs through her. They agreed to wait at least a week before “meeting,” so Oswald must have called him here. 

As dark eyes scan the crowd, she straightens up and smiles around her next words. After all, she wants to make a good first impression.

**.xXx.**

“You sure about this, sir?” Max asks as they walk closer to the front door.

“Yeah, boss man. This isn’t the plan,” Jade adds as they move past the line waiting outside. 

“Dodging a summons would be suspicious, wouldn’t it?” he counters as he holds an arm out. Max rolls her eyes while Jade laughs, and he lets the two of them walk ahead of him into the nightclub. They agreed to wait a week, maybe a little more, but Cobblepot called him and requested his presence. If he doesn’t show up, it won’t look good. He could have just sent Max and Jade without him, but Cobblepot asked for him specifically. 

The crowd parts as the three of them walk inside, some of them even trip over themselves in their hurry to get out of his way, and he looks around the room. People are everywhere, and he sees Cobblepot sitting at a table with a perfect view of the stage. After taking an even breath, he looks towards the stage. Bex is standing at the front, right in the center, and her lips tilt in a smile as she sings. His eyes sweep over her, watching the way that her hips sway from side to side. He normally pays no attention to the way people are dressed, but he likes the way that the black dress she’s wearing molds to her curves. It’s short, barely covers her ass, but she’s wearing boots that extend past her knees so he can only see a section of her thighs. The dress only has one full sleeve, leaving her left arm bare, and it’s cut low in the front. Would it be hard to take off? Would he have to concentrate to carefully peel her out of it? Or would she order him to just rip it off?

“Victor! Thank you for joining me on such short notice. Please, sit.” It’s only taken him a few seconds to take in Bex’s appearance and walk over to Cobblepot, and he grinds his teeth together as he looks away from her and takes a seat next to Cobblepot. 

“You have a job for me?” He wouldn’t tell him anything over the phone, but that’s the only reason Cobblepot would call him down here. 

“As a matter of fact, I do.” As Cobblepot talks about someone who has grievously wronged him, Victor watches the stage. She’s singing something different now, something slower, and his eyes keep catching on the smallest things. Like a lock of hair clinging to the side of her neck. The way the dress moves across the tops of her thighs. His mind still stores everything that Cobblepot says, filing it away, but his focus is on Bex. “See something you like?”

“She’s different than the usuals,” he answers instantly. He knows they’re supposed to wait, but he likes watching her. Going by the way her eyes keep meeting his, she feels the same way. 

“If you finish the job and come back before she’s done for the night, I’ll introduce you.” Victor looks away from the stage and over at Cobblepot, and the smaller man smiles in a way that would make most people feel uncomfortable. It’s a challenge, or possibly a threat. It’s hard to tell with Cobblepot sometimes. 

“I’ll finish the job, and I’ll come back if nothing else catches my eye first,” he says and stands. Cobblepot nods and waves his hand, dismissing him, and Victor leaves the club. He’s aware of Max and Jade walking behind him, and they catch up to him once they’re outside. 

“She’s really good,” Max says first. 

“Looks really hot tonight too,” Jade adds. He glances at both of them, quickly, and realizes that they’re both smiling. He’s given them too much leeway. That’s why they insist on trying to tease him, he’s sure of it. 

“We have work to do.” Max hums while Jade giggles, and he decides to ignore both of them. He’s got a job to do and then he’s heading back to the club.

**.xXx.**

Bex is starting her final song of the night when Victor returns. She knows it’s him because of the way people move out of his way, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t love the way people recognize him. Because it’s more than just recognizing _who_ he is. They also know _what_ he is. His eyes don’t come anywhere near her as he walks through the crowd and towards Oswald’s office, and she manages not to pout. He’s just doing what he’s supposed to. When she finishes the song, she does a small bow and then slips off the front of the stage. Butch is already there waiting for her, and she smiles up at him.

“Boss wants to talk to you!” Now that she’s done singing, a DJ is playing music loud enough to drown out most conversations. 

“Got it!” She weaves around people and wishes for just a moment that they’d move out of her way like they do for Victor. No one knows who, or what, she is though. Which is for the best. She reaches Oswald’s office soon enough, and she runs her fingers through her hair and smooths down her dress before stepping inside. 

“Marvelous job tonight!” Oswald says when he looks up at her. He’s sitting at his desk, with an open briefcase in front of him, and Victor is standing behind him. His back is propped against the wall, and his arms are crossed over his chest. She lets her eyes meet his for less than a second before she turns her attention on Oswald. 

“Thanks, sir. I think the requests are a big hit,” she says and smiles. 

“Indeed they are.” He pauses to smile at her for a moment before making a point of looking over his shoulder. “Where are my manners? Miss Cavanaugh, I would like you to meet an associate of mine. Victor Zsasz.”

“Miss Cavanaugh.” Victor drawls her name out in the way that he knows makes her flush, and she shifts her weight to her left leg as she meets his eyes. 

“Please, just call me Bexley. Or Bex. I prefer Bex,” she says in a rush and smiles at him. Her tone sounds a little nervous to her, but not because she’s scared. There’s not a trace of fear or apprehension in her voice, and she notices the way that Oswald looks at her. Victor inclines his head but doesn’t say anything, and she shifts her weight back to her right leg. 

“Victor, take this to Butch and then have a drink on me. I’ll be out in a moment.” Oswald closes the briefcase with a quiet snap before handing it to Victor, and Bex holds still as he moves around the side of the desk. He stops in front of her and just looks down at her, eyes dark, and she feels her breathing kick up a notch. Then he walks around her and the door clicks closed a moment later. 

“Well, he’s certainly intense,” she says and smiles for Oswald. He motions to the chair she normally sits in, and she collapses back against it with a quiet sigh. 

“You recognized his name, didn’t you?” Her smile turns a little sheepish as she lightly pulls on the bottom of her dress, and she slowly nods her head. 

“I’ve heard…whispers, about him.” She looks up then and makes sure to look straight into Oswald’s eyes. “It’s really none of my business though.”

“You know who I am, don’t you?” he asks her. It’s no secret who he is, everyone in Gotham knows who Oswald Cobblepot is, but she wants to play this smart. 

“Not if you don’t want me to, sir.” Her answer makes Oswald laugh, louder than his usual polite chuckles, and she waits to hear his response. 

“You’re a smart girl, Bex. I like that about you, I really do. So, tell me honestly, are you afraid of me?” A normal person would be afraid of him. He’s the number one crime boss of Gotham; one word from him and she’s fish bait. She knows how it works. 

“Not at the moment. Should I be?” She hasn’t done anything worth dying over, so she has no reason to be afraid of him. The answer must be the right one, because Oswald smiles gently at her as he gets to his feet. He walks around his desk until he can lean against the front of it, and he holds his hands out towards her. Out of curiosity, she extends her arms and lets him take her hands in his. 

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he says and lightly squeezes her hands. That’s comforting. 

“Thank you, sir,” she says and dips her chin. This is her way of showing respect, which isn’t something that she does very often. Not honestly, anyway. Oswald lightly swings their hands, and she looks up at him again. 

“Are you afraid of Victor?” She visibly bites down on the corner of her lip and then soothes the small sting with a swipe of her tongue. 

“A smart girl would be, huh? Considering his…reputation?” Assassin. Murderer. Monster. He’s been called all sorts of things, and smart people are afraid of him.

“Some people find danger exciting,” Oswald says with a small glint in his eyes. She laughs at that, a true laugh, and hears Oswald’s now familiar quiet chuckle join her. 

“Yeah, I guess some people do. I think he’s kinda fascinating, actually, but I’m sure he’s got better things to do than hang out with a nightclub singer.” She says it with a humorous smile, not a self-deprecating one, but Oswald narrows his eyes at her anyway. 

“You’re my nightclub singer, which makes you special. Who knows what goes on in Victor’s head though,” Oswald sighs. Victor’s thoughts are usually pretty straightforward, in a refreshing sort of way. He’s not that difficult to figure out, if you can understand him. 

“Is there anything else you need tonight, Mister Cobblepot?” she asks. He thinks it over, she can see something brewing behind his eyes, and then he smiles. 

“Would you mind singing one last song? Something…slow?” He’s clearly plotting something, but she doesn’t know what. As long as it’s not her death, or Victor’s, she doesn’t really mind. She grins as she stands up, and she gently squeezes Oswald’s hands. 

“Whatever you want, sir.” He lets go of her hands and then offers his arm, and she loops her arm through his with a quiet laugh. Ever the gentleman. He leads them back out into the nightclub, and she winks at him before they part ways. She easily moves back onto the stage and whispers to the band, and she catches Oswald’s eye as she turns to face the main part of the nightclub. He’s sitting next to Victor at a table, and they both have drinks in front of them. 

Her fingers gently reach out to touch the microphone stand as the music starts, and her head tilts to the side so that her hair falls over her shoulder. It’s showtime.

**.xXx.**

_“Every Saturday night, I get dressed up to ride for you, baby.”_

Victor sees Oswald watching him from the corner of his eye as Bex starts singing, but he keeps his focus on the stage. Watches the way that her arms move through the air as her body keeps time with the slow beat. Everyone else in the club is quiet, hushed, as they watch her. Listen to her. Why can’t she sing and dance like this at home? Her hips move in a slow roll, and he holds completely still when her eyes meet his as she sings the next part. 

_“Your hands are on my hips, your name is on my lips. Over, over ‘gain, like my only prayer.”_

If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was baiting him. A part of him is tempted to move up to the stage and carry her out of here, but he has more self-control than that. Even if he doesn’t like the way some people in the room are staring at her. Like they’re hungry. It doesn’t matter, because they’ll all know soon enough that she’s not available. They said they would keep things simple, and there’s one thing that they both agree on. Exclusivity. 

“She’s good, isn’t she?” Cobblepot asks. He forces his eyes away from the stage and over at Cobblepot, and he doesn’t like the smug smile on the other man’s face. 

“I suppose,” he answers. Cobblepot laughs, and Victor glances back at the stage. Just for a moment. Then he’s looking at Cobblepot again. 

“I really like her. She’s new to Gotham and could use some friends, but I’d be very upset if something were to happen to her,” Cobblepot says with a pointed look. Victor’s smarter than most people give him credit for, so he picks up on what Cobblepot is implying instantly. 

“Are you suggesting that I’m some kind of deviant, sir?” He pulls his words out slowly, in the way that he knows makes Cobblepot a little unsettled, and smiles internally when Cobblepot shifts the smallest amount in his seat. 

“I would never suggest such a thing, Victor.” He thinks about replying to that but decides not to. “I want her kept safe, unharmed, but you’re free to do whatever you wish.”

“You’re giving me permission to…spend time with…your singer?” He puts as much skepticism in his tone as the topic warrants, which is quite a bit, and looks impassively at Cobblepot as he draws out each word. 

“I see the way you’re looking at her. Think of it as me thanking you for working so quickly tonight.”

_“I’ve got a burning desire for you, baby. I’ve got a burning desire.”_

“I mean it though, Victor. No harm, whatsoever,” Cobblepot says as the song comes to an end. The room claps, including Cobblepot, and Victor feels a muscle in his jaw tick. 

“I am capable of controlling myself, sir.” Why do so many people assume that he’s an uncontrolled murderous maniac? He’s very disciplined and patient. Don Falcone knew that, Bex knows that, but most people can’t seem to understand. It’s…frustrating. 

“I just want to make sure that we’re clear,” Cobblepot says quietly. Bex is off the stage and walking towards them, and Cobblepot raises a hand to wave her over. She smiles as she stands in front of their table, only a little out of breath, and she reaches up to push her hair out of her face and behind her. “Thank you for singing for me, Bex!”

“It was no problem, Mister Cobblepot!” Her eyes quickly glance over at him before focusing back on Cobblepot, but Victor knows that he noticed the quick look. Cobblepot is good at noticing the little things, Victor will give him that. 

“Since I kept you later than usual, Victor has volunteered to escort you home.” He’s done no such thing, but he’s not going to contradict the man. Not when he’s doing exactly what they want. 

“You have?” Bex sounds surprised and disbelieving, and Victor easily moves to his feet to stand next to her. She tips her head back to look at him, and he holds one arm out like a perfect gentleman. 

“I have,” he answers. She looks at Cobblepot and makes a face that he can’t see, but it makes Cobblepot smile indulgently. 

“Come by an hour earlier tomorrow, Bex. We have a few things we need to discuss.”

“You got it, Mister Cobblepot!” He walks off with Bex holding onto his arm, and she looks over her shoulder after they pass the table. Probably to make another face at Cobblepot. The people still in the nightclub move out of their way as they walk towards the door, and he hears Bex laugh quietly as they step outside. 

“Bex?” When he looks over and down, all he can see at first is frizzy red hair. Then he sees the pale face under the wild mop of hair and cold blue eyes. 

“Hello, Ivy. Hungry?” So this is Bex’s little orphan. She looks small under her oversized sweater, but she stands with her spine straight and her head held high. 

“Yes. Who’s this?” The girl sweeps her eyes over him, and he looks over at Bex. She grins at him before looking down at the girl, and she tightens her grip on his arm. 

“This is Victor. You okay with him joining us?” Bex asks her. The girl looks him over again and then shrugs, and she turns on her heel to start walking down the street. Bex pulls on him so they can follow after her, and she leans her head against his arm as they walk behind the small girl.

“She’s different,” he says after a moment. Either the girl didn’t hear him or doesn’t care, because she never slows down or says anything. 

“I think she’s adorable,” Bex whispers. She looks dirty and a little unhinged, like most of the street kids, but he doesn’t correct Bex. He keeps quiet as they walk down the street, and the girl leads them into a diner that’s seen better days. She walks straight to a booth and sits down, and Bex pulls him onto the bench seat across from her. Before any of them can say anything, a middle-aged waitress that looks half asleep walks up to the table. 

“Two vegan burgers, with fries, and two vegan milkshakes. And whatever he wants,” the girl orders easily. 

“The same for me,” he says and tilts his head to study the girl. As the waitress walks off, the girl copies his movement and looks right back at him. 

“Your boyfriend is weird,” the girl says without looking away from him. 

“He is, but that’s why I like him,” Bex says and reaches up to pat his shoulder. The girl continues to look at him, so he leans to the far right and watches as she does the same. When he moves to the far left, making Bex lean to the side, she copies him again. They slowly straighten up at the same time, and the girl keeps her face just as impassive as his. 

“How old are you?” he asks her. He’s seen young kids on the streets, but she can’t be very old. 

“Twelve.” She’s small for a twelve year old. He would’ve put her at closer to ten, if that. He feels warmth and a line of cold on top of his hand, and he looks down to see Bex’s hand covering his own. She’s wearing a large gold ring, with something engraved on it, and she carefully laces their fingers together. When he looks over at her, she smiles but the look isn’t reflected in her eyes. Is she thinking about herself at that age? When she was living in foster homes and out on the streets?

“That’s an important age. You’re almost a teenager.” Bex grins at the kid as she says it, and the girl looks over at her. Victor’s just happy she’s not staring at him anymore. 

“I guess,” the girl says and shrugs. The waitress drops off the kid’s food and drink first, and she brings over his and Bex’s meal on a tray. The table is quiet while they eat, and he’s surprised at how slow Bex is eating. She’s not even taking bites off of her burger; she’s pinching off small bites. A few minutes later, he watches as she turns her plate so that the half-eaten burger is closer to the girl. Once her food is gone, the girl reaches over and grabs the second half of the burger. So that’s why Bex is always hungry when she comes home. 

“You still got your blanket and sleeping bag?” Bex asks after the girl has slowed down her eating. He’s been pushing his fries onto Bex’s plate and watching as she picks them up without looking down, and the girl reaches across the table to eat both of their fries. 

“Yeah. They’re not even wet.” Bex nods like that makes perfect sense, and it does when he thinks about it. It rains a lot in Gotham, so the girl’s belongings must get wet often. 

“Good. That’s good. Let me know if you need another one, okay?” Victor gets up to pay the bill while the two of them talk quietly, and he joins them outside a minute later. Bex is talking quietly to the girl, who’s looking up at her with an unwavering stare. When Bex goes quiet, the girl nods once and then looks around Bex to stare up at him. 

“Take care, Bex! Victor.” She steps around them easily and starts walking south, and Bex looks over her shoulder. 

“Take care, Ivy!” Bex calls out. The girl lifts a hand without turning around, and Bex sighs quietly as she wraps her arms around one of his. They start walking in the opposite direction, towards Bex’s apartment, and she drops her head against his arm. 

“She’s a strange little girl,” he says quietly. Her arms tighten around his, just for a moment, and she breathes out a harsh exhale. 

“It’s not easy being on your own at that age.” He isn’t used to hearing Bex so quiet, it’s not like her, so he decides to change the subject. As they continue down the sidewalk, he tells her what Cobblepot said to him. He’s surprised that the man made a point of telling him not to harm Bex, because it means that Cobblepot is already slightly attached to her. Which is a good thing, since Bex still wants to help him as much as possible. It’s easier to help him if she’s close to him. 

“I think he believes that I wanted to take you to my basement.” Bex’s laugh is loud, especially on the abandoned sidewalk, and she nuzzles against his arm. 

“I think it’s sweet. He’s looking out for me. Trying to protect me from the big bad assassin.” Her tone is teasing, and she sounds more like herself now. After she finishes giggling, she tells him what she talked about with Cobblepot after he was dismissed. He listens until she’s done and then he looks down at her. He doesn’t speak until she tilts her head back to look back at him though. 

“Fascinating, huh?” Her nose wrinkles a little as she grins, and she lets go of his arm as they stop in front of her apartment building. She leans back on her heels as she looks upwards, and he uses the pause in their conversation to look her over. 

“I think you should make sure I get inside okay, don’t you?” There’s a look in her eyes when she looks at him, something dark and teasing, and he leans down until his nose almost brushes hers. 

“Of course, Miss Bex, and I promise to be a perfect gentleman.” Her fingers curl around his collar and pull him down just a little more, and her lips lightly brush against his when she speaks next. 

“I think I’d prefer the dangerous criminal,” she whispers and then pulls back. She grins at him one last time before spinning on her heel and sprinting away, towards the back staircase and not the elevator, and he takes off running a moment behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in this little world I’m creating, I’ve decided that Max and Jade (Zsaszettes 1 and 2) are fun people. When no one is around, they make fun of Victor and generally enjoy life. They poker-face it on the job, but they have distinct personalities. (And they love messing with Victor.) Since the girls will show up throughout the rest of the story, I thought it’d be best to explain myself now. 
> 
> Metropolis is the fictional city where Clark Kent, Superman, lives. There’s different versions of where the city is located, but it’s right next to Gotham in this story. I know the city will come up at least one more time, but I don’t think it’s going to play a huge part in the story. I just want people to know that while it is a fictional city, it’s not my fictional city. It belongs to DC. 
> 
> Ivy will also continue to be in the story, because I’ve always liked Poison Ivy and the idea of a young Ivy is just so much fun! Also, Ivy and Victor are gonna be bros. Sort of. I’m not sure if I got her age right, or anywhere close to right, so I just made her a little younger than Selina/Cat. I’m not sure if I’m going to follow canon!Gotham and have her aged; that might be one of the things that I change for this story. Input would be appreciated!
> 
> I’m sorry if parts of this chapter felt rushed, but I was kinda rushing. I don’t want to detail every little thing every single day, so I’m trying to hit the high points so I can get to the good stuff. If anyone wants me to write out all of the little things, just let me know! Believe me when I say that I have no problem with writing out every meal and conversation Bex and Victor have. I just don’t want to bore any readers. 
> 
> I think that’s everything I wanted to ramble about for this chapter. If anyone has any questions or suggestions, I’d be happy to hear them!
> 
> Song used: _Burning Desire_ by Lana Del Rey


	9. Chapter 9

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap09_zpswama0duq.jpg.html)

A light touch against her right collarbone, firm enough to register but not light enough to tickle, wakes her up. She shifts her legs under the sheet as she sighs, and her toes curl as the light touch moves down her sternum. The touch pauses halfway down the scar, stopped by the sheet, and moves back up. Over across her left collarbone and then up the side of her neck. The side of her neck flares with heat and a little throb of pain, even at the slight pressure, and her back arches up as a quiet groan slips out. She opens her eyes as she settles back down against the mattress, and she lets her head roll to the side so she can meet Victor’s eyes with her own. The move leaves the left side of her neck exposed, and Victor lays his palm flat against the dark purple mark. (She has to cover it up at night before she goes to _Oswald’s_ , and it takes a lot of carefully applied makeup to keep the dark hickey from being seen. Maybe, by tomorrow night, she won’t have to hide it anymore.)

“Good…” She trails off as she leans up to look over Victor’s body, at the clock on the bedside table, and she flops back down after taking in the bright red numbers. “Afternoon. Sleep okay?”

“Mhmm.” His eyes are focused on the side of her neck, and she can feel his finger tracing the outline of his mark. It seems like she’s not the only possessive one in this relationship of theirs. 

“Do you have to go work on Mark?” He meets her eyes then, and she smiles at him as she shifts around so that she’s lying on her side instead of her back. Her bare legs tangle with his, and she reaches over to lay her fingers against his chest. Maybe she dug her nails in a little too deep?

“I do, but I’ll be back at seven-thirty.” She raises a brow at that and curls her fingers so that she can lightly touch her fingertips against the four lines going down the left side of his chest. 

“Why then? I have to be at _Oswald’s_ at nine.” Oswald asked her to come by an hour earlier than usual, and she usually gets there a little before ten. The band that plays is excellent, so they rarely need a lot of time to prepare before she starts singing. 

“Because we’re going to dinner.” She lets her hand slide off his chest and down onto the bed, and her fingers run over the raised scars on his left arm. There’s four new tallies carved into his arm after the job he did last night, but he’s lying on them. 

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Her tone is teasing, but she can feel warmth curling low in her stomach. Assassins on a date…they should have their own movie. 

“Am I?” She flips the sheet off of them as she moves to straddle his stomach, and he reaches up to grab her hips on instinct. Her palms press flat against his chest as she leans over him, and she takes a moment to press her lips against his chin before answering. 

“I would love to go to dinner with you, Victor, but I have one question first.”

“Yes?” he asks when she doesn’t say anything else. She lowers her body over his, skin against skin, and moves her lips next to his ear. 

“Do you have to leave right now?” The hands on her hips smooth up her back and then tangle in her hair, moving her so that he can see her, and she licks her lips as his dark eyes meet hers. 

“I think they can wait for me.” Lucky her. That’s just the answer she was hoping for.

**.xXx.**

That night, she dresses somewhat modestly. The white dress she puts on is tight around her upper body but flares around her hips and thighs, and she pulls on her black leather jacket. She’s shown her arms nearly every night, so she can cover them up for a night. The jacket also has a high collar, just in case the makeup on her neck is degraded from sweat. The black boots she pulls on go over her knees, covering the bottom halves of her legs, which means that most of her body is covered up. The scar on her chest and the tattoo on her right collarbone are still visible though. Once she’s dressed, she brushes her hair out and decides to keep the waves instead of straightening it. After her and Victor become more public, she’ll start wearing it up and out of her way.

At exactly seven-thirty, a knock sounds on the front door. No one has ever knocked on her door, and she turns off the TV before walking over to it. She squares her shoulders and puts on a pleasant smile, and she opens the door with ease. Dark eyes meet hers instantly, and her smile becomes completely genuine as Victor grins at her. He’s dressed in a different suit than the one he left in this morning, and she takes a moment to look him completely over. She loves the way that his clothes fit perfectly, tight in most places, and she tilts her head to the side as she meets his eyes again. 

“How lovely to see you again, Victor.” Heat is spreading across her cheeks and low in her stomach, and she feels like giggling. She feels light. Is this how everyone feels on a first date?

“Did you dress up for me?” His tone is teasing, voice low and quiet, and she looks down at her dress. 

“Depends. You taking me somewhere good?” He easily turns on his heel, so that his back is facing her, and holds out his arm. She skips forward and loops her arm through his, and she twists around to close the door behind her. He takes her out the front door, instead of through the garage like they normally do, and she pauses outside on the sidewalk. There’s a black car pulled up at the curb, and Jade is standing next to the open back door.

“Good start?” Victor asks and looks down at her. Jade’s face is blank, but Bex is sure that the woman is laughing internally. There’s a glint in her eye. 

“I’m starting to think that you’re secretly a romantic.” Victor makes a quiet sound as he pulls her towards the car, and she sits down first and scoots over to make room for him. Max is in the front seat behind the wheel, and the car starts after Jade sits in the passenger seat. 

"We said we’d go public, so we’re going public,” Victor says after the car is moving down the street. 

“He’s like a teddy bear!” Jade calls out and starts laughing. 

“That kills people,” Max adds. Bex laughs as she meets the woman’s eyes in the rearview mirror, and Max glances away a moment later to focus on the road. “And you look great, Miss Bex.”

“Yeah, you’re killin’ it,” Jade laughs. Bex’s laugh escalates as Victor rolls his eyes, and the rest of the ride is filled with quiet talk and the three women doing their best to annoy Victor. Going by the small tick in his jaw, Bex thinks they’ve succeeded. 

Once they reach their destination, Jade easily hops out and holds the door open for them. Bex is amazed at the way the woman can go from mad giggling to coldly impassive from one moment to the next, and she quietly thanks her after she’s standing on the sidewalk. In front of a small restaurant. Victor laces their arms together and walks her inside, and she looks around the empty room. There’s one table set up in the middle of the restaurant, with plates of food and drinks already laid out. She turns to look at Victor, and he raises a brow at her. 

“I don’t like people,” he states and leads her to the table. She bites the inside of her lip to keep from laughing when Victor pulls her chair out for her, but it’s not because the idea of Victor being gentlemanly is funny. (Although, there is something humorous about a seasoned assassin treating her like some kind of high society lady.) She feels so light and airy, like there’s nothing to anchor her down. 

“How’d you swing this anyway?” she asks after Victor sits down across from her. When he just looks at her curiously, she makes a point of looking around the very empty room. “No customers, no waiters…it’s like a ghost town in here.”

“I killed the owner’s son-in-law, so he owed me a favor.” She’s starting to think that Victor takes payment in the form of favors, which isn’t a bad way to do business. 

“You didn’t kill him here, did you? That’s bad karma.” The food smells so good that she might let that slide, if that is the case, just this once. 

“In his office uptown.” 

As they eat, Bex questions Victor about some of his other jobs. He worked for Mister Carmine for twelve years, but he only had forty-four tallies when she met him. Only forty-four kills. She accumulated that many just by killing the Hawthorne family, and that’s without including all of the guards and known associates. With a reputation like his, Victor’s body count should be higher. So she listens to him explain his system while she chows down on some kind of expensive steak. Mister Carmine wanted him to train at first and to be well-rounded, so Victor exceeds at more than just assassination. He’s a tracker, a retrieval specialist, and the best questioner and conditioner in the city. (Possibly the country, if she’s being honest with herself.) Victor took care of Mister Carmine’s high profile clients, but he left most of the contracts to his girls. To train them. Teach them. 

“Can I ask one more thing?” Their food is gone now, and she needs to be at Oswald’s soon. Victor leans back in his chair as he looks at her, and she stretches her legs out so that she can rest her flats on top of his boots. 

“I’m an open book,” Victor says and holds his arms out. 

“When Maroni started going after Mister Carmine, when that little gang war broke out, where were you?” As Mister Carmine’s enforcer, Victor should have been at his side the entire time. She knows that Victor wasn’t there though, and she hasn’t been able to think of a reason why. 

“After Maroni’s first attack, Falcone arranged to have his staff relocated. It was my job to get them out of Gotham safely. He didn’t want any of them to be used against him,” Victor explains. The simple explanation makes her throat and chest feel tight, and she glances down at the expensive white tablecloth. 

“He’s gotten sentimental in his old age, huh?” Her voice sounds thick, possibly a little watery, and she makes herself look up and into Victor’s eyes. Mister Carmine’s entire household staff was killed once, so he had his best killer get them out of danger when the shit hit the fan. It was a foolish move and not very strategic, but it makes her respect the older man even more than she already does. 

“I suppose.” Victor says it quietly before he stands up, and she shakes off the weird feeling as her eyes trail up his body. When he pulls her chair out for her, so that she can stand up, Bex springs up and wraps her arms around his neck. The move means that her feet are dangling in open air and that Victor has to wrap his arms tightly around her back to hold her up, and she nuzzles against the side of his neck for a moment. 

“Best date ever,” she murmurs before she slides down Victor’s body. It’s also the only real date that she’s ever been on, but she can keep that to herself. Victor’s smile is all teeth as she looks up at him, and they’re both smiling as they walk back outside. Jade is waiting for them when they walk out, and she opens the car door for them with a blank face. After the car starts moving down the street, Jade twists around in her seat and asks Bex how the food was. 

“No fair, boss man. How come we don’t get the good food?” Jade raises her shaved brow as she asks the question, and Bex copies the look as she turns to look at Victor as well. 

“Yeah, Victor, how come the girls don’t get the good food?” Bex asks. He looks back and forth between them, but Bex can’t read the look in his dark eyes. After a moment, he huffs quietly and pulls his gloves out of a jacket pocket. 

“I didn’t realize it was my job to feed them,” he says as he tugs the first glove on. 

“You gotta take better care of your girls. Oh! I know! Why don’t the two of you come by tomorrow for breakfast?” Bex asks and looks at both of them. Jade moves to look at Max, and Bex watches on as the two women have a silent conversation with their facial expressions. 

“Don’t you mean lunch?” Victor corrects her. She has been waking up later in the day because she stays at _Oswald’s_ so late, but she still has breakfast foods. 

“Brunch then,” she compromises. 

“We accept your offer,” Jade says with a wide grin. Bex can see both rows of her teeth, and the almost manic grin reminds her of Victor. 

“I like her, sir. She’s a keeper,” Max says as the car slows to a stop. The compliment makes Bex feel warm, because she wants Victor’s girls to like her. If they clash and hate each other, it’ll just make things difficult for everyone. Bex likes a challenge, sure, but she doesn’t like difficulties. 

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” Bex says before sliding out of the car. The two women call out a goodbye, and Bex walks towards the front door of _Oswald’s_ with Victor walking right behind her. Once they’re inside the nightclub, she takes a look around. It’s mostly empty. The bartender looks half asleep behind the bar, and there’s voices coming from the back of the club. Oswald’s office. Victor follows her into the office, and Oswald and Butch both look across the room at him. Not at her. 

“Need me for anything?” Victor asks when they just continue to stare. 

“You’re free tonight, Victor,” Oswald says and then looks at her. “But I would like a word with my singer.”

“Of course, sir.” Bex spins on her toes to face Victor after he speaks, and she can see the question in his eyes as she looks up at him. 

“Will you come listen to me sing later?” she asks him. His eyes flick over to Oswald before meeting hers again, and he slowly nods his head. 

“Later,” he promises. He raises one gloved hand to grip the right side of her neck, and his thumb brushes under her jaw so that he can tip her head back as he leans down. She makes a quiet noise as he nips at her bottom lip, and she actually stumbles forward a step when he pulls away. With one last look at Oswald, Victor turns on his heel and leaves the room. She waits until he’s gone before turning around to face Oswald, and she lets her tongue swipe across her bottom lip to soothe the small sting there. 

“Butch, go see how things are going.”

“Sure thing, boss.” The big guy gives her a look when he passes by, a mixture of curiosity and disbelief, and she doesn’t say anything until she hears the door close a moment later. After that, she lets out a very audible sigh and smiles at Oswald. 

“You wanted to talk to me, Mister Cobblepot?” she asks. He smiles back at her, gently, and motions to her usual chair. She skips over to it and flops down, mindful of her dress, and lets a quiet laugh slip out. “Sorry. It’s just…I’ve had a really good day.”

“Which is precisely why I asked you to come in early.” He presses his hands flat against the desk as he stands up, and her head tilts to the side as he walks around the side of the desk. He leans against the front of it, directly in front of her, and she looks up at him. 

“I’m not following, Mister Cobblepot.” When he holds his hands out, she reaches out and laces their fingers together without hesitation. The quick response causes him to smile again, and she feels a little more relaxed at the look. She’s at least seventy percent sure that he’s not planning on killing her. 

“I wanted to make sure that Victor treated you well. So, how’d it go?” That’s actually really sweet of him. Then again, with Victor’s reputation, he might just be making sure that she’s not irreparably damaged. 

“Can we talk openly, sir? No bullshit?” She wants to show Oswald that she’s okay with this world, with Victor’s world. The number one crime boss needs to know that she’s not afraid of the criminal underground. It might also help him open up to her in the future if he knows that she can handle it. 

“Of course we can, my dear. Speak your mind.” She tightens her grip for just a moment and makes sure to keep her eye contact constant as she speaks. Liars look away. 

“I know Victor’s really good at killing people, and he’s a pretty intense guy. I think his stare alone can make men cry.” She pauses for a minute to laugh quietly and then continues. “But he’s also really sweet. He walked me home last night but didn’t ask to come inside, and he took me out on a date today.”

“Victor Zsasz took you out on a date?” Bex laughs again at Oswald’s incredulous look and then launches into the story, which is all true. She tells him about Victor showing up at her door and taking her to a nice restaurant, where they had a delicious dinner without any interruptions. She keeps her smile sweet with only a little mischief as she talks, and Oswald shakes his head a few times but doesn’t question her story at all. 

“I think he might be the possessive type though,” she confesses in a whisper. She’s smiling as she says it, and Oswald raises a brow at her. 

“And are you okay with that?” In a way, she likes that Oswald is looking out for her. He only knows her as Bexley Cavanaugh, an orphaned young woman living alone in a new city, and he wants to make sure that she’s okay. It’s nice. 

“You know, I think I am. I’m normally not into super macho guys because it gets annoying, but he’s not loud about it like most meatheads. He just radiates aggression naturally. Which probably shouldn’t be a turn-on, huh?” she asks. Oswald laughs at that, quiet and gentle, and he squeezes her hands. 

“To each his, or her, own,” Oswald says after a moment. 

“He probably looks hot shirtless too.” This time Oswald laughs loudly, completely unrestrained, and Bex joins him. (Even though Bex already knows that Victor looks amazing shirtless. No, better than amazing. Spectacular? Phenomenal? Breathtaking? She’ll have to keep thinking it over.)

“If he causes you any problems, tell me immediately.” Such a good boss. Bex nods at him with a serious look on her face, and Oswald lets go of one of her hands so that he can gently cup her cheek. “You are my singer, and I will make sure that no harm comes to you.”

“Thanks, sir. It’s nice to have someone looking out for me,” she says after he moves his hand off of her face. He’s still holding her right hand, and she likes the point of contact. 

“Call me Oswald, Bex.” First name basis already? This really is going her way. 

“Thanks, Oswald.”

**.xXx.**

Brown eyes lazily move around the room, taking in the ostentatious decorations, while waiting. Always waiting. Ten minutes and seventy-three tongue clicks later, the large double doors in the room open. Light colored eyes look away from the decapitated statue across the room and at the newcomer instead, and the man walking into the room is quickly sized up. Few inches shy of six feet. Leanly built, from regular workouts and not hard labor. Thick brown hair. Cold blue eyes. Expensive clothes, tailored specifically. Expensive watch and shoes. Comes from money. Probably used to getting his way.

“You must be Jackson.” Smooth, even voice. Hint of a command. Comfortable giving orders that he expects to be followed without question. “Is that your given name or surname?”

“Does it matter?” He’s reclined back in a large chair, a comfy chair even, and he raises a brow as the man looks him over. Probably checking his boots for dirt. Well, too bad for him because Jackson is a fucking professional which means that he knows how to cover his tracks and therefore not track dirt into overly expensive houses. 

“You can tell a lot about a person by their surname. It tells others where they come from.” It sounds like he’s preparing for a speech, and Jackson has very little patience for speeches. Unless he’s making them. He likes making speeches. Listening to them? Not so much. Because rich dudes likes this one always give the same speech about someone doing them wrong and needing to be dealt with. Like a dog that’s shit on the carpet. 

“People don’t hire me because of where I come from. They hire me because of what I can do,” he says and watches the man pace in front of the fireplace. An actual fireplace. Sometimes Jackson hates rich people, but they pay the best so he keeps his mouth shut and waits. 

“You are highly recommended.” Jackson already knows that. He’s good at what he does, but there is one thing that’s been bothering him since he got the call to come here. 

“I am, but I thought Gotham was known for its wide variety of assassins.” The man tenses up at the word, probably doesn’t like the blunt ugliness of it, but Jackson has no problem saying what he is. He also doesn’t have the time or patience to deal with someone who can’t even acknowledge the reason for his presence. Jackson kills people. He’s here because the rich dude obviously wants someone dead. 

“Who’s the best hitman in Gotham?” Great, it’s a game of twenty questions. Why can’t clients just give him a job without being dramatic about it? If this turns into a weird game of king of the castle, he’s bailing. No money is good enough to make him listen to that kind of speech. 

“I think that’s a matter of opinion.” As an afterthought, he adds cheerfully, “Sir.”

“Off the top of your head, who’s the best assassin in Gotham?” The man turns around to look at him, and Jackson pushes out a breath as he sits up. There’s a whole network of professionals in Gotham, each with their own reputation, and he thinks the names over quickly. There is one name that’s known more than most. He started as Carmine Falcone’s enforcer, the first to get a contract from the mob boss, and he now works for the new mob boss. 

“Victor Zsasz,” he says after a moment. He’s never met the man, he’s never set foot into Gotham until two hours ago, but he’s heard others talk about him. Even people who have been in the assassination business for decades call him a monster. Jackson’s kind of impressed by the reputation and is now considering tracking him down for an autograph. 

“That’s your target.” Jackson’s eyes narrow as he crosses his arms, because he has his own code. He doesn’t kill other assassins. Not without a good reason. (Can he get an autograph before the hit? Assuming he takes the contract, of course.)

“You want me to kill Gotham’s Boogeyman?” The man huffs in what sounds like annoyance, but Jackson is only stating what he’s heard. 

“No, I want you to bring him to me. Alive. I’ll be the one that kills him.” Before Jackson can ask why he wants the hitman dead, the man’s phone rings. He answers it and talks quietly for a minute, and Jackson waits for the call to end. Not patiently, but quietly. Once the call is over, the man smiles and looks over at him. 

“Good news?” Jackson asks. 

“I know how we can get to the monster.” Jackson still isn’t too sure about this job, but the money is good. Good enough for him to do a little research before making his decision, but this guy doesn’t need to know that he’s still on the fence. He gets to his feet and rolls his shoulders, to release some of his tension, and meets the man’s eyes. 

“Where do I start, Mister Hawthorne?”

**.xXx.**

Just like the previous nights, Bex sings and engages the crowd. She notices when Victor returns close to the end of her time on stage. Two songs after Victor sits at a table with Oswald, another familiar figure slips into the nightclub and sits at the end of the bar. Mark. A part of her is worried that it’s too early for Mark to be out on his own, but she trusts Victor’s judgment. One song after Mark takes his seat, Bex slips off of the stage. She smiles as people touch her and yell over the DJ to tell her that she did a good job, and she’s breathing a little heavy when she reaches the table that Oswald and Victor are sitting at.

Once she’s close enough, Victor extends his arm and carefully wraps his gloved fingers around her wrist while raising a brow at her. She nods even though she doesn’t know what he’s asking, because she trusts him. He pulls on her, quickly without hurting her, and she laughs breathlessly as she lands in Victor’s lap. One of his arms winds around her hips to hold her securely since she’s sitting sideways in his lap, balanced on one thigh, and she wraps her arm around his shoulders. 

“Marvelous job tonight, Bex!” Oswald says and pushes a glass of water towards her. She smiles gratefully before chugging some of it down, and she rests more firmly against Victor’s front. 

“Thanks, sir!” She dips her fingers under the back of Victor’s collar and twists her smile into something a little less innocent when he looks at her. “Did you like my performance, Victor?”

“I liked the last song,” he says as one gloved hand rests high up on her thigh. Under the hem of her dress. The leather feels good against her skin, but she still wishes that he wasn’t wearing the gloves. She wants to feel his bare fingers denting her skin, but she can wait until they get back home. 

“Why don’t you two call it a night?” Bex looks away from Victor, with some difficulty, and over at Oswald. 

“Are you sure?” She normally spends a half-hour with Oswald before she leaves for the night, and she doesn’t want to give that up. Especially since she knows that she’ll be going home with Victor no matter what. 

“Yes, get out of here!” Oswald says and waves his hand. Well, she’s not going to argue with the boss. She looks at Victor, who shrugs and then shifts so that he can grip her hips and lift her up. Once she’s standing, he stands up as well and moves an arm around her shoulders. Possessive. That’s good. 

“I’ll come in a little early tomorrow.” Oswald nods at her, as if saying that’s okay, and Victor starts to walk off. Bex looks over her shoulder to wink at Oswald and then smiles when the crime boss laughs. As they walk through the club, people move out of their way. The people even look down or away, and she wraps an arm around Victor’s back as heat curls low in her stomach. 

“It’s you again,” Ivy says when they step outside. The girl is looking up at Victor with no emotion showing on her face whatsoever, and Victor’s arm tightens around her shoulders as he bends to look into Ivy’s eyes. 

“I’m paying for your food. You should be respectful,” he says slowly. Ivy wrinkles up her nose and then turns on her heel, and Victor makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a growl. It makes Bex laugh as she follows behind the girl, and Victor is pulled along with her. 

“So, you let Mark out,” she says quietly. Ivy is far enough ahead of them that she can’t hear them, so Bex isn’t worried about the girl hearing something that she shouldn’t. 

“It’s only temporary. He has to report back to Max and Jade.” Victor’s smile is dark and makes her heart rate increase, and she presses her fingers against his back a little harder. 

“What’d you have him tell Hawthorne?” she asks. 

“Just that I was spotted with Cobblepot’s nightclub singer.” The look he gives her makes her mouth go dry, and she’d consider dragging him into a dark alley if they weren’t following after Ivy. The girl depends on her for food, and she can control herself until they get home. She’s pretty sure she can anyway. 

“You’re walking too slow!” Ivy calls out. Bex noticeably hurries her step, pulling Victor along, and she catches the small twitch of Victor’s lips as they reach Ivy. This just might be her best job ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I making Victor too mushy? I tried to think about what a date with the assassin would look like, and I can’t picture him wanting to dine out surrounded by people. So this is what I came up with. I also picture Victor as a possessive kind of person, which works because Bex is slightly possessive too. (Or maybe that should be obsessive? Sociopaths are difficult to map out emotionally.) 
> 
> Also, I threw in some of my own little headcanons about Victor’s character. Like how long he worked for Falcone and the number of his tallies. Victor is an assassin, true, but he’s good at just about everything else too. Some of his contracts went to his girls, which is why his tally is so much lower than Bex’s. The explanation Victor gives for his absence during the end of Season 1 is my own headcanon just for this story. It was the only explanation I could think of to adequately explain why Victor Zsasz wasn’t there and taking out everyone going after Falcone. 
> 
> Now, I know that OCs are scary. A lot of readers don’t like OCs, so I originally meant for Jackson to be a one-off. To make a couple of appearances and then disappear, but I’ve grown attached. I don’t have any other OCs planned, so it’s just him and Bex for this story. Jackson’s part in the story will be revealed more as we go along, and I’ve really enjoyed creating his character so try to give him a chance? (For people who like visuals, I picture Jackson as James Ransone and Gavin Hawthorne as Gideon Emery.)
> 
> There’s a time skip in the next chapter, nothing too drastic, and some non-mushy action!


	10. Chapter 10

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The next five days are uneventful and follow the same pattern, but Bex has enough fun that she doesn’t mind the routine of it all. It goes a little something like this.

Victor and Bex wake up sometime around noon, and they take their time getting out of bed. Once they’re adequately dressed, Victor will call Max and Jade before starting on brunch. The two women usually arrive just as Victor is finishing up, and they eat together out on the patio. Bex enjoys getting to know the women, and the two of them seem to genuinely like her. After they’ve all eaten, Victor and the girls will leave to take care of whatever needs to be done that day. Max and Jade usually show up around eight to help Bex get ready for work, which is really just an excuse for the three women to laugh and kill some time. 

Like a true gentleman, Victor walks her to work each night. He never stays, so she spends an hour or so just talking to Oswald about little things. People in the nightclub, how she’s enjoying Victor’s company, and sometimes Oswald even complains about the idiots working for him. She keeps singing and is surprised at how much she actually enjoys it, and Victor always shows up before she finishes singing. He normally checks in with Oswald when he first arrives, and the two men sit at their usual table as she finishes up for the night. 

She always joins them after she’s done singing, and she loves the way that Victor pulls her into his lap each night. It’s clear to everyone in the nightclub that she’s taken, and people have stopped touching her when they compliment her. (Which is a relief to her, because she doesn’t like being touched.) Mark is usually hidden in the nightclub somewhere, so that he can gather information for Hawthorne, but he always goes back to Max and Jade when he leaves the nightclub. Victor and Bex stay to talk to Oswald for a while, until he shoos them away to enjoy the rest of their night. 

Every night, Ivy waits for them outside. The girl has warmed up to Victor, somewhat, and she questions them both as they eat at the same diner. (Victor and Bex talked it over, and they’ve agreed that having an obvious routine with repeated movements is a good idea. It makes it easier for them to be tracked, which is what they want.) After they eat, Ivy goes on her way while Bex and Victor start towards Bex’s apartment. They end their nights pressed tight against each other, skin to skin, and Bex always falls asleep completely satisfied and content. She’s thinking of sending Mister Carmine a thank-you card. Possibly a fruit basket. 

The fifth days goes the same as the previous four, but the script changes after they reach _Oswald’s_. Victor walks her inside like he always does, but Oswald is sitting at the bar instead of in his office. Butch is nowhere in sight, and Oswald watches them with narrowed eyes as they walk farther into the nightclub. Once they’re close to him, Bex reaches out and grabs Oswald’s hand with her left one. (Her right hand is currently tucked into Victor’s jacket pocket.) Oswald gently squeezes her hand, because the two of them are used to this kind of contact by now. 

“Is everything okay, Oswald?” She still calls him sir or Mister Cobblepot if people are around, but he’s given her permission to use his first name if it’s just the two of them. Well, just the two of them and Victor. 

“I’m afraid that Victor and I are going to have to miss your performance tonight.” Oswald makes a slight frown after he finishes speaking, and Bex feels her brows pull together in faux confusion. If they’re both leaving, that means Victor is in for a fun night. It’ll be good for him. He gets antsy when he doesn’t have any work to do. 

“I hope it’s nothing too dangerous?” she asks. Victor hums, and Oswald folds his hand over their already clasped fingers. 

“Nothing that you need to worry about, my dear. Victor and I are just going to have a long talk with a little problem maker.” Oswald smiles at her, but the look in his eyes is downright cruel. There’s the criminal she’s heard so much about. He’s always so gentle and kind with her, but she knows that he’s got a mean streak that’s a mile wide. Possibly several miles wide. 

“I promise to sing as if you’re sitting right in front of me,” she says with a grin of her own. 

“Excellent!” Oswald’s eyes move over to Victor for a moment but quickly return to her. “We may not be back in time for Victor to escort you home. Would you like for me to arrange a car for you?”

“Or one of my girls can pick you up,” Victor adds. Bex looks between the two of them, a few times, and then smiles at Oswald. 

“As much as I love the two of you as my shining knights, I can walk myself home. The offers are appreciated though.” She’s dressed in a pair of ripped black skinny jeans and a black band tee shirt, paired with heavy black boots and a black leather jacket, and she can move easily in the clothes. If something were to happen, she can take care of herself. 

“Of course, Bex,” Oswald says and stands up. He quickly knocks back the last of his drink and then looks up at Victor. “Say your goodbyes and meet me outside.”

“See you tomorrow, Oswald.”

“Tomorrow,” Oswald says and presses a kiss to her knuckles before walking off. Victor waits until Oswald is outside to look at her, and she grins at him as she rocks up onto her toes. 

“You heard the boss. Say goodbye.” Her hair is down around her shoulders, so it’s easy for Victor to grip a handful and pull her head back. She hooks her fingers into his shoulders as his lips move against hers, hard and nearly violent, and she’s breathing out of rhythm when he pulls back. His other hand comes up to press against the left side of her neck, where an ever present dark mark is on display, and she shivers as she looks up at him. 

“See you at home,” he whispers against her lips. She uses the hold on his shoulders to pull him down for one last taste, and she nips his top lip before she lets him go. 

“See you at home,” she echoes and takes a step back. She leans back against the bar as he walks away, and she doesn’t move until he walks out the front door. Now…time to prepare for another night on the job.

**.xXx.**

The night seems to pass a little quicker than usual, and she’s amused when people are still careful not to touch her after she slips off the stage. Ever since the first night that Victor pulled her into his lap, people have made sure not to touch her. It doesn’t seem to matter that Victor isn’t here tonight; they smile at her and tell her that she sang beautifully, but they don’t even brush against her accidentally. Since Oswald and Victor are still absent, she doesn’t hang around the nightclub after she’s done singing. Instead, she goes outside and greets Ivy.

“Where’s Victor?” The girl looks at the space all around Bex; she even leans to the side to look behind Bex and then frowns when there’s no one there. Bex knew that Ivy was warming up to Victor. 

“He’s working tonight, so it’s just me. That cool with you?” Ivy’s head tilts to the side as she looks up at Bex, and she holds a hand out. With a small smile, Bex reaches out and lets Ivy grip her hand. The girl starts walking after that, and Bex walks next to her since they’re still holding hands. “So, why the touchy-feely tonight?”

“Victor holds your hand, but he’s not here,” Ivy explains simply. She’s very observant, and Bex grins even though Ivy is looking forward and can’t see it. They make it to the diner without exchanging another word, and Ivy looks at the waitress right after they walk inside. “We’ll have the usual.”

“What she said,” Bex agrees as Ivy leads them to their usual table. The girl doesn’t let go of her hand until she moves to sit down, and Bex watches as she places her small hands on top of the table. She taps her fingers a few times, and Bex notes the way that her eyebrows are furrowed. Something is on the girl’s mind. She could ask, but she’s learned that it’s better to wait. Ivy will talk when she’s ready. 

“How was the singing tonight?” Ivy asks her. That’s not what’s on the girl’s mind, but Bex answers anyway. She talks about some of the more interesting looking people that she saw tonight as they wait, but they’re both quiet as they eat. As usual, Bex lets Ivy eat half of her food. When there’s nothing left except for a few fries, Ivy squares her thin shoulders and meets Bex’s eyes. 

“Everything okay, kid?” Bex finally asks. She’s used to Ivy’s blank stares by now, but something is clearly on the girl’s mind. 

“I know what Victor’s job is.” Bex and Victor have talked about Victor’s job very vaguely, which is to say that they haven’t explained it at all. They just told Ivy that he works for Bex’s boss. Nothing more. 

“Oh? What is Victor’s job?” Bex pops another fry into her mouth as Ivy gathers her thoughts and then nearly chokes when the girl answers. 

“He kills people.” It takes two big gulps of her vegan milkshake to dislodge the fry and get her to breathing normally again, and she blinks rapidly to help clear up her watery eyes. Once she’s back to normal, she holds up a finger and then digs around in her pocket. She gets out the money for their bill, lays it on the table, and then leads Ivy out of the diner. She doesn’t talk again until they’re outside on the sidewalk, where no one can overhear them. 

“Where’d you hear that?” They’re facing each other now, and Ivy props her hands on her hips as she tilts her head back to look at Bex. It’s the same way that Bex is standing, except she’s looking down with her hands on her hips. 

“Heard some people talking about a tall bald guy that works for the Penguin. They said he kills people. This old guy said he was a monster. Is Victor a monster?” That’s…a hard question to answer. Compared to most people, Victor probably is a monster. Bex doesn’t see him that way though. 

“No, he’s not. Victor’s a human being, just like me and you,” Bex answers. Ivy’s stare doesn’t waver, not even a little. 

“But he does kill people.” It’d be easy to lie. There’s no reason for her not to lie. Ivy’s a child, and the last thing a child needs to know is that there are people in this city that will kill anyone if the price is right. (Or if they’re just in a killing mood.) Then again, Ivy is an orphan living on the streets. Telling her the truth can’t hurt. It’s not like Victor’s profession is a secret. 

“Yes.”

“Is he going to kill me?”

“No.”

“Is he going to kill you?”

“No.”

“Is he mean?” That one stumps Bex, until she remembers the first time she ate with Ivy. The girl mentioned that her father got mean after he married her mother, and Bex is smart enough to add that up. Ivy’s father was abusive, so that’s what Ivy is asking. Victor is capable of cruelty, he’s an artist at it actually, but he’s not mean. He’s simply efficient. 

“No, Ivy, he’s not mean,” Bex says and slowly reaches out. She places her hands on Ivy’s shoulders and hates how thin the girl is. Feeding her once a day isn’t enough. “Victor’s job is to kill people, but that doesn’t make him mean. It’s just a job. You don’t have to worry about him hurting you.”

“Or you?” Bex smiles at the quiet question and pulls Ivy closer to her. Small arms wrap around her back in a tight hug, and she gently moves her arms around Ivy’s shoulders. 

“Victor will never hurt me.” Ivy’s face is pressed against Bex’s chest, so her next words are muffled but still clear. 

“I knew he wouldn’t. I knew they were lyin’,” she says and holds on a little tighter. The girl really is just too cute. Bex pulls back but keeps her hands on Ivy’s shoulders, and the girl’s arms fall back down to her sides. 

“You’re a good kid, Ivy. You hear me?” There’s a part of her that wants to take Ivy home with her. Give her a warm bed and three meals a day, but she’s not the right person to raise a child. She’s a killer. Victor is a killer. She’s currently setting herself up as bait, and she doesn’t want a kid caught up in that. 

“I hear you. Take care, Bex.” Ivy slips away from her and starts walking off, and Bex turns to watch her go. 

“Take care, Ivy,” she says quietly. Maybe, once things with Hawthorne are handled, she’ll talk to Victor about taking the girl in. 

The walk towards home is quiet, even more so without Victor, and she tucks her hands into her pockets as she walks. Her thoughts are jumbled and keep bouncing all over the place. She thinks about Victor and Oswald, wonders if they’re okay. She thinks about Ivy, walking alone to sleep on the street. She thinks about Hawthorne, anticipating getting rid of that particular thorn in her side. She thinks about Max and Jade, worried that they’re on their own tonight. She thinks about Mister Carmine, hopes that he’s happy down south now that he’s away from here. Each thought keeps trying to push its way to the forefront, and it’s starting to give her a headache. 

When she first hears the quiet _fwump_ , she thinks that something in her brain has finally snapped. Then she hears it again followed by a cut-off scream, and she hurries her steps. Five long strides later she’s standing in the mouth of an alley, and she has to squint to see in the darkness. The first thing she sees is a body slumped up against the brick building on the right, clearly dead. He’s missing half of his head. On the other side of the alley, there’s two more people. Going by the red heel she can see scrambling against the ground, the person on their back is a woman. A large form is lying on top of her, and Bex feels anger bloom in her stomach. 

Her foot knocks into an empty bottle as she walks closer to them, and the man straightens up and looks around. When his eyes meet hers, she raises her hand and wiggles her fingers in a wave. The man has blood streaked across his face, and the woman under him is rapidly bleeding out. Stabbed in the abdomen. Several times. Her dress is pushed up above her hips, exposing her, and Bex flexes her fingers as the man lumbers to his feet. 

“Get outta here!” he yells and points a bloody knife at her. It’s been too long since she got to kill someone. Twenty-four days, to be exact. 

“Sorry. No can do,” she says and shrugs. She takes another step forward and watches as the man looks behind her, and she doesn’t have time to react before a pair of arms wrap around her from behind. The tight hold traps her arms to her sides, and hot breath fans across her cheek. 

“Shoulda ran,” the second man whispers. 

The first man starts walking forwards, and she takes a slow breath as she watches him creep closer. Once he’s in grabbing range, she brings the heel of her boot down on the second man’s foot. She snaps her head back at the same time and listens as he starts to wheeze, which means that she nailed him right in the throat. The first man jumps forward with his knife held out, faster than she was expecting, and she manages to twist to the side and catch the blade just as it reaches her. A thin line of heat runs along the right side of her neck, but the cut isn’t deep. She tightens her fingers along the long blade and ignores the feeling of the knife cutting deep into her fingers. She uses her other hand to hit the first man’s wrist, causing him to release the knife, and then snaps her leg out. Her boot catches him on the chin, forcing him back and onto the ground, and she quickly turns around. 

Wide eyes meet hers as she pushes the knife into the second man’s torso, between his ribs, and she grins as she twists the large blade. She’s willing to bet that she just punctured a lung. It’s not necessarily fatal, but it hurts. The man looks stunned, like he can’t believe the turn of events, and she twists the knife once more for good measure. Just when she’s getting ready to pull it out and maybe stab him in the neck, hands grip her shoulders and throw her. The right side of her face cracks against the brick wall with a sharp thumping sound; the blow makes her ears ring, and she groans quietly as she starts to slide towards the ground. 

“C’mon, Kenny, move it!” Her vision is fuzzing out a little, but she can see the first man pulling on the second. She loses a few seconds of time, maybe more, because they’re both gone when her vision clears a little. She can hear quiet gasping sounds though, which means that the woman is still alive.

Bile burns her stomach and the bottom of her throat, but she fights off the nausea as she crawls to the other side of the alley. The woman’s eyes are wide, showing white all the way around, and she’s breathing too quick and too shallow. The amount of blood shining on the ground all around her isn’t promising, and the blood slicks across Bex’s right hand as she pulls her body closer to the dying woman. Her left hand is currently out of commission, and she’s seriously hoping that none of the tendons or nerves have been damaged. 

The woman flaps a hand towards her, but Bex can’t reach out to her. Not yet. Instead she digs into her pants pocket and does what any other average citizen would do. She calls the cops. She talks frantically into the phone, tells the operator that a man is dead in an alley and that a woman is dying, and she rattles off her approximate location. The operator promises her that someone is on the way and asks her to stay on the line, but Bex hangs up and hurriedly stuffs her phone back into her pocket. With her now free right hand, she grabs the woman’s hand. Her hold is weak, but she’s still crying steadily. 

“Sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” Bex says quietly. It’s loud enough for the woman to hear, and the woman’s breath stutters as she looks up at Bex. She realizes that the woman is trying to talk, so she shuffles a little closer and then leans down to put her ear next to the woman’s mouth. 

“P-please. Pull. My dress. Down. Don’t want them. To see me. Like this.” The words come out slowly, too quiet, and Bex sits up straight. She keeps holding onto the woman’s hand as she raises her left hand and carefully flexes her fingers, and she feels a small amount of relief when her fingers bend. It causes blood to pump out at a faster rate, but it also means that her fingers are still functional. With a quiet hiss, she grips the hem of the woman’s dress and pulls it down over her hips. She wants to put pressure on the woman’s wounds, but there’s too many. It wouldn’t do any good. 

It’s too late for her.

**.xXx.**

The cackling sound of the radio goes quiet, and James Gordon looks over at the driver seat. Harvey is already looking at him, getting ready to say something, but Jim just shrugs and slides out of the passenger seat. They’re still on the clock for the next twenty minutes, and the approximate address is right around here. He can hear Harvey grumbling behind him as he looks down alleys, but he hasn’t seen anyone yet. Maybe they got the address wrong?

“Here! We’re here!” The shout comes from the other side of the street, and Jim quickly crosses the empty road and runs right into the alley. There’s one dead body on the right, and there’s two women on the left. The one lying down is struggling to breathe, and the woman sitting up next to her has half of her face covered in blood. Harvey is calling for a bus behind him, so he drops down next to the women and starts to shrug out of his jacket. 

“Don’t, Jim. She’s gone.” Harvey’s hand is on his shoulder, stopping him, and he looks down. The woman lying down isn’t breathing anymore, but the other woman is still holding her hand. Jim slowly reaches out, but the woman flinches back. She groans after she does it, a quiet painful sound, and Jim drops his hand. 

“Miss, can you tell me what happened here?” She blinks as she looks around the alley, and she carefully places the other woman’s hand on the ground before meeting his eyes. 

“I was walking home when I heard this noise. It sounded like a scream, so I stopped. Saw some guy on top of someone and that guy over there.” She turns just enough to look at the dead man but then faces him again as she continues. “I tried to stop him, but this other guy grabbed me. I tried to fight them off. Grabbed the guy’s knife when he tried to stab me. I stabbed the guy who grabbed me, but the other guy threw me against the wall. It was all kinda fuzzy after that, but I think they both ran off.”

“Probably worried all the noise would get someone’s attention,” Harvey mutters. The woman reaches up with a hand, her right one, and presses against the right side of her throat. There’s a line there, a cut, that’s bleeding sluggishly but steadily. There’s another cut along her hairline, about an inch along, on the right side. That side of her face is starting to swell too. 

“I can’t feel my fingers,” the woman says quietly. Jim looks down and sees that all four fingers are split open, and he finishes shrugging out of his jacket. The woman looks like she’s going to flinch back again, but she holds her hand out instead. He carefully wraps his jacket around her hand and then presses down, and he apologizes when she hisses. She doesn’t move or flinch this time.

“What’s your name?” he asks her. Her eyes raise back up to meet his, and she’s starting to pale under the blood. 

“Bexley Cavanaugh.” Her voice is steady, and she looks calm. Shock. 

“Okay, Miss Cavanaugh, is there—”

“Bex. I prefer Bex.” Still steady and even, so she’s definitely going into shock. That’s not good. He smiles gently at her but doesn’t let up on the pressure around her hand, and he keeps a careful eye on the side of her throat and her head. 

“Bex.” Her lips twitch into a smile before she groans quietly, as if that small movement is causing her pain. “Is there someone I can call for you?”

“I don’t have any family.” She glances down and sways a little, but there’s too much blood on the ground to determine what’s hers and what’s the dead woman’s. 

“A friend maybe?” Her right hand reaches out, and Jim holds still as she grabs onto his shoulder. She’s trying to steady herself. 

“My boss. I’m a singer at a club. You can call my boss.” He doesn’t like how pale she’s becoming, doesn’t like the way her lips are starting to tremble. 

“Who’s your boss?” Her fingers tighten in the material of his shirt as she starts falling to the side, and Jim manages to catch her with one arm while still keeping pressure on her hand with his other one. She falls against his chest with a quiet cry, and her body jerks against his in one violent spasm before her eyes open again. Her stare is direct, and he can see the way she grits her teeth. It’s like she’s fighting to stay conscious, which is a good thing considering she probably has a concussion. 

“Cobblepot,” she whispers and closes her eyes. Out cold. 

“Great. Just what we need,” Harvey huffs. Jim can hear sirens now, getting closer, and he wishes that she had said any other name but that one. It always comes back to Cobblepot.

**.xXx.**

Victor is sitting in Cobblepot’s office, watching a clock while the other man counts out money, and he’s literally counting the time until he can leave. Should be any minute now. There are still people in the club, listening to the DJ and getting progressively drunker, but Bex has been gone for a couple of hours now. She’s already fed her street rat and made it home, which is where Victor wants to be. Tonight was a good night, he gets to add another two tallies, but he’s waiting until he’s with Bex to add them. She’d been disappointed when he added the last four without her. Said something about him taking away her chance to play nurse.

“I think that’s all of it, so you are—” Victor nearly growls when Cobblepot’s phone starts ringing, and the man raises a finger to tell him to wait while he answers it. He was so close to being gone too. “Jim! It’s so good to hear from you.”

_“Why is it always Jim Gordon?”_

“Say that again.” The look on Cobblepot’s face is serious and murderous, and Victor leans forward in his chair. Maybe his good night isn’t over yet. Cobblepot grits out a few more words and then hangs the phone up, and Victor waits on the edge of his seat. 

“More work, sir?” he asks as Cobblepot gets to his feet. 

“Bex was in an accident.” Victor is on his feet and around the desk before making the decision to move, which isn’t like him. He’s always in control, but this is Bex. Cobblepot has to tilt his head back to meet Victor’s eyes, and he can only imagine what he looks like as Cobblepot swallows nervously. “Detective Gordon is with her, and I do believe that it would be unwise for you to see her with him there.”

“Why?” Jim can’t do anything to him.

“Because you’re a known assassin,” Cobblepot points out. When Victor just continues to look down at him, Cobblepot squares his shoulders and speaks slowly. “It’ll be easier for Bex if you’re not there. I will call you as soon as the detective leaves.”

“I’ll drive,” Victor says and turns around. He can hear Cobblepot walking behind him, so he doesn’t slow down as he leaves the nightclub. The car they used earlier is still parked in the same place, and he quickly moves to sit behind the wheel and then grinds his teeth while waiting for Cobblepot to get in. As soon as the passenger door closes, he takes off. 

“He said she’ll be okay. Just a few minor injuries,” Cobblepot says as they get closer to the hospital. 

“What happened?” Bex is careful and deadly, so he can’t think of what might have happened. Unless Hawthorne made a move. He doubts that, because Mark would have told them. It had to be something else. 

“He didn’t say.” When they get to the hospital, Victor parks around the back where he can’t be easily seen and watches as Cobblepot hurriedly opens the door. He pauses before stepping out and looks over his shoulder at Victor. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

Victor just grunts in place of an answer and looks straight ahead after the door closes. To keep himself calm, he thinks about how he’ll kill whoever hurt Bex. The _how_ doesn’t really matter, because he’s going to make sure that it’s slow and messy.

**.xXx.**

“What’s your name?” The quiet whisper is a surprise, and Jim feels his brows raising as he turns around. The woman, Bex, still looks too pale but a little steadier. The blood has been cleaned off of her, and there’s stitches on her forehead and on her throat. Her left hand has been stitched and heavily bandaged as well, and she looks young and small in the too big hospital gown.

“Detective James Gordon.” He pauses after that and then tries to smile for her. “Jim.”

“Jim. That sounds a little nicer.” She’s leaned back in the hospital bed with monitors and an IV hooked up to her, and she looks like she’s been in a hell of a fight. She has been in a hell of a fight. Despite that, she seems calm. 

“You did a brave thing tonight, Bex,” he says as he moves to stand at the foot of her bed. 

“If by brave you mean stupid, yeah. Who grabs the blade of a knife?” He moves around the side of the bed until he’s standing on her left side, since the right side of her face is swollen and starting to darken, and holds out his left hand. The cut across his palm is faint now, and he watches as her eyes trace along the faint scar. 

“Maybe we can start our own club?” She smiles up at him but then winces when her right cheek dimples, but he still thinks that she looks younger when she smiles. 

“Idiots who grab knives blade first. We can make tee shirts.” Her voice is getting quieter, but she’s fighting to stay awake. Because he was right about her having a concussion. 

“I’ll get right on it,” he says just as the door to her room opens. Oswald Cobblepot walks inside, and he watches as Bex smiles and reaches her right hand out. Cobblepot grabs it instantly and then smooths the hair away from the left side of her face, and it’s not what Jim was expecting from an employee-employer relationship. 

“Sorry for bothering you, sir, but I didn’t know who else to call.” Her eyes flick over at Jim for just a moment, but it’s too quick for Jim to read her expression. 

“You’re not a bother, Bex. Tell me what happened to you.” This time her gaze stays fixed on Jim, so Cobblepot looks over at him too. It’s the first time that the known criminal has looked at him, and he shifts under the combined stares. He summarizes what happened and then mentions that he came along with Bex to the hospital, which Bex quietly thanks him for. 

“We have officers out looking for the men responsible.” Cobblepot’s expression changes, it goes from somewhat comforting to cold, and Jim can’t help but to wonder if the men responsible are going to disappear into the river. 

“Thank you for taking care of her, Detective.” It sounds like a dismissal, and it’s something that Jim would normally ignore. He’s still wearing clothes covered in Bex’s dried blood and his shift ended a couple of hours ago, so he’s not going to argue with Cobblepot. Not tonight. Or, rather, not this morning. 

“If you need anything, feel free to call me,” Jim says and looks at Bex as he places one of his cards on the table next to her bed. 

“You got it, Jim.” He smiles and nods at her before walking out, and he doesn’t take a full breath until he’s standing outside. Shower and sleep. That’s all he cares about right now.

**.xXx.**

“I wanted to call Victor, but I didn’t think it’d be a good idea to have him in the same room as a cop. I really am sorry, Oswald,” Bex says quietly. Her head is absolutely killing her, and she can’t wait to get her hands on the men who did this to her. Well, hand. Her left hand is going to be a little useless for an unknown amount of time, which makes her very irritable since she’s mostly left-handed.

“He’s waiting outside. Before I call him up, how hurt are you?” Bex hasn’t depended on anyone in a very long time, and she decided when she was sixteen that she was never going to depend on anyone to feel safe. She can keep herself safe just fine, thank you very much. Still, knowing that Victor is so close by makes her relax just the tiniest bit. 

“The cuts on my fingers are pretty deep. The tendons are okay, but they don’t know about nerve damage yet. My neck’s fine. I’ve got a concussion and a bruised face, so nothing too major. I don’t think I’ll look too pretty for a while though.” The right side of her face is bruised from her hairline to her jaw, and she’s lucky that nothing fractured. She’s just heavily bruised. 

“You look beautiful to me.” She smiles at the kind words, even though she knows she looks horrible, and Oswald squeezes her hand before letting go. “I’m going to go call Victor and talk to your doctor.”

“You’re a good friend, boss.” Her words cause him to pause at the door, but he doesn’t say anything. After he walks out, Bex closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing. Being in an actual hospital is weird. She never went to a hospital for her worst injuries; she patched those up herself. She doesn’t need to be here now, but normal people stay in a hospital after being attacked and concussed. Hopefully they’ll let her leave tomorrow. If not, she’s walking out anyway. 

Time slips away from her as she waits for…someone to come into the room, so she jumps a little when the door suddenly opens. She’d been drifting off, but her eyes open fully at the sound. Dark eyes meet hers, and she smiles on instinct as Victor crosses the room in a few strides. His hand immediately goes to the left side of her face, and she sighs quietly as his hand cups her left cheek. Her whole head is pounding in pain, but she always likes it when Victor touches her. He sits next to her right hip, which causes her body to rock to the side and bump against him, and she watches as he quickly looks over her injuries. 

“Max and Jade are looking for the idiots who did this. They’ll find them before the cops even get close,” Victor says quietly. His jaw is clenched, which must make talking difficult, and she reaches up with her right hand to grab his wrist. She pulls his hand away from her face so that she can lace their fingers together, and she rubs her thumb across his knuckles. 

“How? I didn’t really get a good look at them.” They’d looked average to her, nothing distinguishing, and there’s a lot of lowlife criminals in Gotham. 

“You stabbed one of them. He’ll need a doctor, but he won’t risk going to a hospital. Only a few places for him to go.” That makes sense, especially since she’s sure that she got his lung. That’ll need medical attention. She tells Victor that and then watches as he uses his free hand to pull out his phone. He sends a quick text to Max, telling her what kind of injury to look for, and he’s returning his phone to his jacket when Oswald returns. 

“I made sure the doctor and staff know that you are not to be left alone, so Victor can stay as long as he wants. They’ll give you whatever you need,” Oswald says quietly as he looks down at her. She also notices him noticing the way that Victor is holding her hand, white-knuckled, but she doesn’t have the energy to care. To Oswald, she’s only been with Victor for a week. They haven’t actually been together for much longer than that, but that doesn’t matter to either of them. Victor is hers, and she’s his. So she’s not letting go of his hand. 

“Thanks,” is all she can think of to say. She’s getting sleepy, and it’s getting harder for her to hold her eyes open. She knows the doctor will come check on her soon, so she can get a little sleep. Can’t she?

“Victor, I trust that you’re going to take care of this?” It sounds like a question, but all three of them know that the answer is obvious. 

“Of course, sir,” Victor answers anyway. Oswald makes a quiet noise of agreement as he moves to her left side, and Bex manages to open her eyes as he leans down. He presses a quick kiss to the top of her head, and she blinks up at him as he pulls away. She wasn’t expecting that. 

“I’ll come check on you tomorrow.” Oswald bids them both a goodnight, and her and Victor are quiet after he leaves. After a couple of minutes, Bex squeezes Victor’s hand and then grins up at him. 

“I want to kill them.” It’s not a request. It’s an order. She knows that Victor can tell, because his grin matches hers. 

“You got it, boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know they only have small parts in this story, and even smaller parts in the show, but I really love writing for Max and Jade. I’ll also never get tired of writing for Ivy. She’s just so cute! What else did I want to mention? Oh! Jim is officially in the story now! I love Jim’s character in the show; I haven’t written too many scenes for him yet, but I do have plans for his character later on. If anyone has any questions or thoughts, I’d love to hear them!


	11. Chapter 11

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap11_zpsr0hcorzj.jpg.html)

Jim freezes in the doorway to the hospital room and wonders for a minute if he’s dreaming. Or having a nightmare. Bex is lying on her back on the hospital bed, still hooked up to monitors and an IV, but she’s not alone in the room. Victor Zsasz is sitting in a chair next to the bed, slumped down with his eyes closed, and he’s holding Bex’s right hand. Bex seems to be sleeping well and none of the monitors are showing that she’s in distress, but she’s holding an assassin’s hand. Does she know who Victor Zsasz really is?

“I think they look sweet together.” Jim’s not even surprised when he looks over and sees Cobblepot looking into the room as well, because he’s already seen the unbelievable. 

“He kills people for money.” He’ll never forget the first time that he saw Victor Zsasz. The assassin stood in a room full of cops and demanded that they leave their own house, and they did exactly as he asked. 

“And she sings in a nightclub. Sounds like a movie, doesn’t it?” Cobblepot is smiling when Jim looks over, and he really doesn’t have the patience to deal with this today. 

“She said she didn’t have any family, so I wanted to check up on her.” It’s hard to tell, but Jim thinks that Zsasz is awake. He hasn’t moved, but something feels different. The air in the room somehow feels changed.

“Bex may not have any living relatives, but she isn’t alone. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your generosity, Jim, but she’s being taken care of.” He must be making some kind of face, because Cobblepot pushes out a hard breath and narrows his eyes at him. “Can you think of anyone else that she’d be safer with?”

“If she remembers any more details from last night, she needs to call me.” Safe with Zsasz. It’s not a concept that he can completely understand, because he’s not sold on the belief that she’s safe _from_ Zsasz. 

“Of course, Detective.” Instead of telling Cobblepot to stay out of police business, Jim nods once and turns to leave. That’s an argument for another day.

**.xXx.**

Victor waits until Gordon leaves to open his eyes, and he straightens up in his chair as Cobblepot walks into the room. He eases himself down into a second chair on the other side of Bex’s bed with a quiet sigh, and Victor waits for the other man to speak. Cobblepot always has something to say, so he knows he won’t have to wait very long. After a moment, Cobblepot rests his umbrella against the side of the bed and then looks at Bex’s face. The right side is swollen and nearly black, and Victor gets the urge to shoot something every time he sees the discoloration.

“How has she been today?” Cobblepot asks quietly. It’s only a little after noon, but Victor hasn’t left Bex’s side. 

“She couldn’t keep her breakfast down, and she’s been sleeping most of the day. Doctor said it was normal,” he reports in the same quiet tone. She’d had a sharp throbbing headache the entire time she’d been awake, all of one hour, so he doesn’t want to wake her up and cause more pain.

“The men responsible?” Victor shifts in his seat but doesn’t disrupt his grip on her hand, and he thinks over how to answer. Halfway honestly?

“One of them didn’t make it. Two of my girls have the other one. I’d like to be the one to take care of him.” The man’s life belongs to Bex, but he’s not going to tell Cobblepot that. The man has no idea who Bex really is, and it’s going to stay that way until she says otherwise. 

“Of course. He’s all yours, Victor. Just clean up after yourself.”

**.xXx.**

Jackson tails the assassin and his girl, but he notices that something is off on that very first night. He gets a good look at the two of them as they leave the nightclub and meet up with a little girl, and he watches as the three of them walk down the street. One of the most feared men in Gotham is wrapped completely around the small woman’s finger; Jackson can tell because he lets her pull him around. There’s also the little things. The subtle things that most people don’t look for. The woman has no problems meeting his eyes, and the man always angles his body towards her. The woman is the one in charge.

The woman…is familiar. He watches her walk down the streets of Gotham for two nights in a row before it clicks, and he almost hits himself for not recognizing her sooner. The last time he saw her, her hair was blue and completely straight. She’d also been dressed in full tactical gear with hardly any skin showing. Now he knows why. Scars and tattoos like that are great identifiers. It doesn’t really hit him until his second night tailing them, when she slips away from Zsasz and skips backwards down the sidewalk while laughing. It’s the skip and the laugh that jogs his memory. Bexley Barba. 

The man, Mark-Something, that reports to Hawthorne said that Zsasz was involved with a singer named Cavanaugh. She might be using a different name, but he knows Bex. It just took him a little bit to recognize the young assassin. It’s obvious that Hawthorne has no idea who he’s dealing with, and there’s no way that Jackson is going to take out Bex. It goes against his moral code. If he backs out of the contract though, Hawthorne will find someone else. That someone else might not recognize Bex and may treat her disrespectfully, and Jackson can’t have that. So he keeps watching and waits for a good time to drop in. 

Then Bex goes and gets herself into a scrap. Not noticing the partner is sloppy; Bex has always been a little eccentric, but she’s never been sloppy. He follows her to the hospital and sets up shop across the street, but she doesn’t have a lot of traffic. Her assassin stays by her side, constantly. A cop and a mob boss both visit; the cop just once and then leaves quickly, but the mob boss stops by two days in a row. Oswald Cobblepot. The Penguin. He’s smaller than Jackson is expecting, but Jackson respects him for checking in on his employee. (Because he’s assuming that the mob boss doesn’t know Bex’s true identity. If he did, he wouldn’t be so worried about her recovery.)

On the third day, early in the morning, Bex is released from the hospital. Jackson watches from a rooftop a few buildings over as Zsasz walks her to a car, and he runs a hand through his hair as he prepares to follow after them. He’s gotta talk to Bex, and soon. Hawthorne is getting impatient, so he won’t wait too much longer to make his move. Jackson needs to talk to Bex, but first…he wants to see where they’re going, because she lives in the opposite direction.

**.xXx.**

“Oh! What about Ivy? I was in that damned place for two nights!” Bex groans and slumps back against the seat. Her stomach still feels a little off and her head feels fuzzy at times, but she’s more or less okay. All of the stitches are itchy though.

“Jade’s been dropping off food for her. Keeps calling her a pet,” Victor drawls out as he makes a turn. Bex focuses on the street and realizes that they’re not headed towards home. Since she knows Ivy has been taken care of, she moves on to a more pressing topic. 

“Where are we going?” Victor’s smile is all teeth when he looks over at her, and Bex twists around in the seat so that her back is against the door and her feet are propped in Victor’s lap. (Max came by around six in the morning with some of her clothes. A pair of purple leggings that were easy to pull up, because of her uncooperative left hand, and one of Victor’s black tee shirts. She’s also wearing one of Victor’s jackets and a pair of flats. Well, she’s barefoot at the moment with her flats kicked off in the floorboard.)

“I got you a present,” Victor says and makes another turn. She turns to look out the windshield and realizes that they’re heading towards the warehouse district. It’s where they held Mark to start with. Her nausea and slight headache seem to melt away as heat spreads through her veins, and she quickly moves to the other side of the bench seat. Her arms wrap around Victor’s shoulders, carefully so that she doesn’t mess up his driving, and she props her chin on her arm. 

“Did you get both of them?” she whispers. She’s been beating herself up for letting the second one catch her off-guard, when she was conscious. And when she wasn’t violently upheaving her stomach’s contents. (Victor had held her hair for her and then carefully wiped her face with a cold washcloth, and it makes her that much more possessive of him. He’s been so good to her.)

“The one you stabbed didn’t make it, but Max and Jade tracked the other one down.” That’s a little disappointing, but she’s angrier at the first one anyway. He was the one that killed the woman in the alley. He was the one who cut her up and then threw her into a wall. He’s the one that she really wants. 

By the time they reach the warehouse district, Bex is bouncing in her seat. She knows that she’s going to pay for all of the movement later, her temples already feel hot and tight, but she doesn’t care at the moment. All she can think about is tearing into the asshole who killed that poor couple in that alleyway, and then turned around and hurt _her_. She can use both hands equally, it pays to be ambidextrous in her profession, but she prefers her left hand. She’s so worked up that she follows Victor out of the driver’s side instead of moving back to the passenger side of the car, and Victor just smiles down at her before scooping her up into his arms. 

“I can walk!” she says through a laugh. Victor has one arm hooked behind her knees and the other across her back, and she has her arms looped loosely around his neck. She trusts Victor to not drop her. 

“Doc said to take it easy.” She raises her right hand to trace the line of Victor’s jaw and his cheekbone, because the man has excellent bone structure, as she hums quietly. 

“I’m gonna violate the doctor’s orders for a little bit, but I’ll take it easy after we get back home,” she promises. She’ll probably only lay around in bed for a day before getting antsy, because she’s never been very patient when it comes to recovery. 

“Hey, Miss Bex! Feelin’ better?” Jade asks as they walk into the warehouse. It takes Bex’s eyes a moment to adjust, and she quickly takes in her surroundings. Jade and Max are sitting on the single metal table in the room, and the man from the alley is hanging from the ceiling with a chain wrapped around his wrists. 

“Getting there. I heard you met Ivy?” she asks. Victor is still holding her, which is just fine with Bex.

“Cute little street rat. Got a stare like a doll.” When Bex just raises her brow in question, Jade grins and answers. “Cold and lifeless.”

“Maybe I should meet her,” Max says quietly. The chains rattle, interrupting the conversation, and Bex looks over at the man again. She squints to get a better look, because it looks like there’s something in his mouth. 

“What is that?” she asks. 

“A bow.” Max’s smile is close lipped, but there’s a look in her eyes that Bex has seen before. Dark humor, her favorite kind. 

“We thought about wrapping him for ya too but decided against it. He’s all yours, boss lady,” Jade says and slips off the table. 

“Have fun, Miss Bex,” Max adds and follows after her. Victor waits until both women are gone to sit her down, and Bex takes a moment to just enjoy standing on her own two feet. Being confined to a hospital room was not fun, it made her restless, so she’s going to release some of that pent-up energy. 

“Let him down, Victor.” Her smile after saying the words is genuine, small and innocent-looking, because this is going to be fun.

**.xXx.**

_“Me and you, we’re going to do this fair. My partner is gonna sit right where he is and look pretty, instead of sneaking up behind you. Doesn’t that sound fair to you?”_

_“What do you want from me, you crazy bitch?! You’re alive!”_

_“You killed that man. Raped and killed that woman. Look at what you did to me. That’s not forgivable.”_

_“I’m not scared of you!”_

_“You really should be.”_

Two hours. Bex played with the lowlife for a total of two hours, while Victor sat on the metal table and watched. It was better than watching a movie or going to a theater. He’s not vain, but he knows that he does good work. Bex? She’s like a force of nature. She let the man lunge at her at first, danced around him until he was nearly foaming at the mouth in anger. Then, just when he was reaching his breaking point, she struck. No weapons whatsoever. She went at him barehanded, and barefoot, laughing all the while. 

The room is painted in red. The idiot just kept getting back up, and Bex cheered every time he came after her again. Because it meant that she got to tear into him a little more. Various fluids and small chunks of flesh are scattered across the warehouse floor, and Bex is covered in dried blood and some that’s still fresh. The man is finally lying flat on the ground, on his back, with his stomach torn open. Bex had dug her fingers in and literally ripped the flesh apart, but the man hadn’t been able to get away because she’d already broken his limbs. Both legs. Both arms. Several times. Even now, the man’s intestines are lying slick against Bex’s thighs where she’s straddling him. 

“I want you to remember this, remember me, in your next life. No touching without permission, okay?” Bex is holding one of his arms and snapping his fingers at each knuckle, quickly and efficiently, and blood is frothing on the man’s lips. 

“In…sane,” the man manages to mutter out. Bex is working on his other hand now, quiet snaps are echoing in the warehouse, and she hums as she breaks his index finger. The man doesn’t even so much as twitch. 

“Yeah, I probably am.” After the last finger is broken, Bex stands up. She just looks down at the man, and her head tilts to the side as he starts to gasp. One, two, nothing. She spins on her bare toes and looks over at Victor, and her teeth are stained red when she smiles at him. 

“Feel better?” he asks her. She bit into his neck somewhere around the one hour mark and tore off some skin, but she was careful not to make it fatal. Her feet make quiet smacking sounds on the concrete floor followed by the suction sound of having dried blood on her feet as she walks over to him, but she doesn’t reach out for him. 

“I feel like I transcended to another plane or something. It’s like yoga for lunatics,” she sighs happily. Her left cheek is flushed because she looks paler than usual, and he can see the dimple despite her bruised right cheek. 

“You’re not a lunatic,” he says as he stands up. She twists around to look behind her, and the black stitches on the side of her neck stand out under the single bulb in the room. 

“His insides are on the outside. I think I might be a little loony.” She’s grinning as she looks up at him, and she might have a point. Maybe she is a little crazy, but who isn’t in Gotham? He raises his arms to reach for her, but she dances back away from him with her hands raised. “I’m filthy. I don’t wanna get blood all over you.”

“Then let’s go home.” Her arms fall to her sides as her smile returns, and she looks…peaceful. 

“That sounds like the best idea ever. I could really use a hot shower.” She reaches up to scratch at her left cheek, and blood flakes onto the ground. With one last smile, she walks past him and heads towards the door. As he follows behind her, he makes a quick call to get the warehouse cleaned. In a few hours, the body will be gone and the warehouse itself will be spotless. It’ll be as if nothing happened. 

As if nothing happened. He’ll never forget the way that Bex completely let loose and _destroyed_ the man who put her in the hospital. Victor has seen more than his fair share of killings. He’s seen efficient ones, personal ones, bored ones…He’s seen practically every motivation for killing there is. Bex’s motivation was more than just personal. She enjoyed the kill. Even now, perched on the edge of the passenger seat to avoid getting blood everywhere, she’s humming quietly to herself and smiling softly. She kills because she likes it. She really is just like him. 

When they reach Bex’s apartment, home, he opens the door for her. She ducks around him and skips to the elevator, and he follows after her. He always follows after her. Once they’re inside the apartment, Bex spins around on her toes and throws her arms out. Her eyes catch his on the fifth turn, and her teeth are still stained pink. The right side of her face is still swollen and nearly black, and she’s covered in blood. Victor’s still sure he’s never seen anyone more beautiful. She winks at him and turns quickly, and the sound of her now ruined flats tap against the floor as she runs. 

Despite being nearly a foot shorter, she reaches the top of the stairs before him. He doesn’t catch up to her until the bedroom, and she’s got one foot past the bathroom doorway when he grabs her. His arms wrap around her middle and lift her into the air, and she laughs with her head thrown back against his chest as he carries her the rest of the way into the bathroom. She’s still laughing quietly when he places her back on her feet and starts peeling her clothes off, and she rests her hand on his cheek when he bends to slip her flats off. The inside of the shoes are caked with blood, so he tosses them into the black laundry basket followed by the rest of the clothes she’s wearing. 

“Are you going to give me a sponge bath, Victor?” she asks when he stands back up. He gently grips her left wrist to raise her arm, and his fingers are careful as he unwinds the bandage wrapped around her fingers. 

“Something like that,” he answers. He starts the shower first and waits for the water to heat before letting Bex get in, and she blows him a kiss before closing the shower curtain. It only takes a few minutes for her to wash off the blood, and he can hear her cursing quietly as the water makes her wounds sting. 

“I think I want a bath,” he hears her say right before the shower cuts off. When she pulls the curtain back a few minutes later, she’s reclined back in the bathtub with bubbles rapidly spreading around her. He takes a moment to think it over and then begins rolling his sleeves up. Once they’re rolled up past his elbows, he lowers himself to the floor so that he’s at Bex’s eye level. “Do you think I was born this way? Did I ever have a chance at being normal?”

“What’s normal?” His voice sounds distracted as he picks up her purple sponge and reaches into the bathtub for her left foot, and she makes a quiet sound as he starts to carefully clean her. 

“Normal is not enjoying ripping someone apart. Were we born this way, or did something go wrong afterwards?” Once he reaches her knee, he sits her leg back down and reaches for her right foot to start the process over. 

“Nature versus nurture?” he asks her. Her brows are pulled down tight, which probably hurts the bruised half of her face, and her eyes are staring up at the ceiling. It’s like her mood and personality did a complete one-eighty in the span of seconds, and he doesn’t know how to make this Bex feel better. 

“My mother was good. Religious and kind.” Her right hand traces across her right collarbone, along the rosary and roman numerals inked into her skin, as she speaks. “My father was a compulsive gambler, but he wasn’t violent. Were your parents ever violent?”

“No.” His parents were mild-mannered, and people kept telling him at their funeral just how _good_ they were. He starts to move the sponge up her right arm, and she turns to look at him. 

“Is there something wrong with me? With us?” He lets the sponge go so that it just floats on top of the water, and Bex’s right hand shakes as it reaches for him. Their fingers lace together, and she uses the hold to pull herself upright. 

“The world needs people like us,” he says slowly. He can see the question in her eyes, so he continues. “The world needs balance. Good can’t exist without opposition.”

“Opposition. I like that.” Her smile is smaller than he’s used to, a fragile looking thing, but it’s a start.

“Are you ready to get out?” She’s supposed to be on bedrest, and she’s been very active since she was released. She needs her rest. When she nods her head, Victor uses the hand not holding hers to pull the plug and let the water drain out. 

The next fifteen minutes are quiet. Bex doesn’t make a sound as he dries her, dresses her, and tends to her wounds. She doesn’t even say anything after he lays her on the bed, but he can feel her eyes on him as he undresses. His shirt has blood on it, from where he grabbed her, but the rest of his clothes are clean enough and don’t need to be thrown away. He changes into a loose pair of sweatpants before sliding into the bed next to her, even though it’s the middle of the day, and she immediately plasters herself to his side. Her legs tangle with his and her unbruised cheek rests against his chest, and he can feel the fingers of her right hand tapping along to the beat of his heart against his ribs. 

“Thank you, Victor.” Her voice is nearly silent. He feels the words against his skin more than he hears them, and he tightens his arms around her instead of replying.

**.xXx.**

When Bex wakes up, it takes her a moment to remember where she is and what’s happened. She remembers the alleyway, remembers the hot feel of the blade slicing her skin and the quiet sound of the woman’s dying words. She remembers officially meeting Detective Gordon, Jim, but most of her time spent in the hospital is hazy. She remembers Oswald stopping by to check on her, and she knows that Victor never left her side. He stayed with her and took care of her, and he got her a present. She remembers killing the man who hurt her, the man who killed those people in the alleyway. Remembers what it felt like to have his bones snapping under her feet, the taste of his blood thick on her tongue.

Those memories are stained red now, which isn’t uncommon for her. She always loses herself a little when she kills like that. When she makes it messy. She knows that Victor watched her the entire time, and he took care of her afterwards. Cleaned her, dressed her, and even tended to the new marks carved into her when she faded away again. She hates that feeling. The one that comes…after. It doesn’t happen every time, but it always leaves her feeling unsettled. Like now. Her skin feels too tight; it feels like she’s not right.

“You’re thinking too loud.” She moves on autopilot at the sound of Victor’s voice, and she blinks as she realizes what she’s done. Victor is lying flat on his back, and she’s sitting on his stomach. Dark eyes are looking up at her, calmly, and she presses her palms flat against his bare chest. She can feel his heartbeat against her right hand, but the bandage on her left hand stops her from feeling his skin. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers and watches the way her clean nails press against the smooth skin of his chest. 

“For?” he drawls out. Faint pink lines are left behind when she raises her hand, and she forces herself to look away and up at his eyes. 

“Going all melancholy. It happens sometimes,” she shrugs.

“Why?” He just sounds curious, so Bex tries to get her thoughts in order. She’s no shrink, but this isn’t the first time that she’s had a seriously low comedown after a good kill. 

“When I was killing that guy, it felt right. It felt good, ya know? Like, of course I had to kill him. There’s no question about it. A guy I know, also an assassin, compared it to getting high. At the height of it, when I’m taking away a life, it’s amazing. But after? Coming down? Sometimes it’s okay. Sometimes it leaves me giddy for days. Sometimes I just go normal, like nothing happened. Sometimes I go numb. And then sometimes…sometimes…”

“You go all melancholy?” Victor supplies. She lets the left side of her lips pull up and traces the fingers of her right hand across Victor’s collarbone. She knows just how much pressure to apply and at what angle to break the bone, but she’d never hurt Victor. 

“Yeah. It’s like I can hear my mother quoting scripture or…when I’d do something bad, she’d cup my face to make me look right into her eyes and tell me that I’d done a bad thing. ‘God will forgive you, Bexley, but you must realize that you have done wrong. Admit your sin and ask for forgiveness.’ That’s what she would say.” When she repeats her mother’s words, she lowers her voice into the hoarse whisper her mother used when she got suspended for fighting in the first grade. The boy that sat behind her had put gum in her hair, so she’d hit him in the face with her reading textbook. It’d broken his nose. “So I can hear her, and I know that murder is wrong. But it doesn’t _feel_ wrong. It feels right. How can I ask for forgiveness if I don’t feel like I’ve done anything wrong?”

“You don’t,” Victor states simply. She narrows her eyes at him, because that’s easier said than done. At the look, Victor presses his hands against the mattress and pushes himself up. She slips down so that she’s in his lap, and she has to tip her head back just the smallest amount because he’s a little taller than her. She could raise up on her knees and make him look up at her, but she likes sitting in his lap. Likes feeling so close to him. 

“Just like that?” she asks. One hand raises to brush under her chin, the only part of the right side of her face that isn’t bruised, and she shivers as his pinky finger brushes across the stitches on the side of her neck. 

“I don’t know why you are the way you are, or why I am the way I am. Does it matter? We are who we are, for better or worse.” He grins around the words, almost like he’s teasing her, and she rests her hands on his shoulders. Nothing in life is really that simple, but they can make it that simple. Can’t they? Victor likes who she is. She could see it in his eyes. Even when she was covered in blood (and possibly entrails), he looked at her like she was the only real thing in the world. 

“Victor?”

“Hmm?” His other hand is under her shirt, tracing around the slashes on her left ribcage, and her skin is starting to flush. It’s like her body is just starting to wake up. Parts of her thoughts still feel fuzzy, but she’s in a cliché and _wanting_ mood. 

“Make me feel real.”

His thumb lightly presses against her jawline as his lips brush hers, and she breathes out her answer to his silent question. No more holding back. No more waiting. His lips firm against hers as her arms wind around his shoulders, and she makes a quiet sound as his tongue flicks against her bottom lip. She thinks about denying him, but she wants to taste him. Wants to lose herself in him. So she parts her lips and presses against him as his tongue glides along hers. His hand moves to tighten in her hair, to hold her still as he presses harder against her, and she reaches down with her right hand for the bottom of her shirt. 

Once her shirt is gone, she’s only left in a pair of panties. There’s a sense of urgency to her movements as she presses tight against Victor, until she’s sure that she can feel his heartbeat against her chest, and fingers push into her back on either side of her spine. She can already picture the blooming bruises in between the scars on her back, and she pulls away from Victor with a soft cry. She doesn’t have the patience to wait anymore, doesn’t want to wait anymore, so she pulls down Victor’s sweatpants just enough and then pushes her panties to the side. 

“Bex,” Victor growls out. Maybe she should have given him some warning before slipping him inside of her, but she’s assuming from the tight grip on her hips that he doesn’t mind. Despite the tight hold, she manages to give small rolls of her hips to help her adjust and lets her head fall back at the feeling.

Teeth dig into the left side of her neck, and she’s sure that the fading bruise there will be dark again the next time she looks into a mirror. The laugh that comes out of her throat is nearly breathless and turns into a moan as Victor shifts under her, thrusting upwards whenever she rolls her hips down, and the sensation is unlike anything she’s ever felt before. Maybe because it’s Victor? She cries out as she’s flipped onto her back, and she braces one foot on the mattress as she raises her other leg to hook her ankle around Victor’s neck. His grin looks feral as he pushes against her, presses deeper inside of her, and she tightens the muscles in her legs as she moves against him. 

It takes a moment, but Bex forces her eyes to open. Victor’s teeth are denting his bottom lip, and her eyes trace the lines of his body. From the sweat pooling in the dip of his collarbones, to his contracting stomach muscles, to the sharp ridges of his hipbones. She claws her fingers against the mattress as he presses her thigh tighter against his chest, and she can hear her stuttering breath over the sound of their bodies meeting. She’s close, so close that she’s starting to shake, and she arches her back to shift the angle of Victor’s thrusts

She bites down on her lip as her orgasm hits and tastes blood, and her body is still pulsing with aftershocks when Victor leans over her and licks the blood from her chin. The sound she makes comes from deep in her chest as Victor goes still over her, but his hips continue to move against her. Drawing it out for both of them. Bex’s skin is slick with sweat and her chest burns when she tries to breathe, but she can’t help laughing at the solid feeling of Victor as he pushes her down into the bed. 

“We’re definitely doing that again,” she sighs as she digs her nails in between his shoulder blades. Victor hisses against her jaw and then nips the bruised skin, and her hips push up on reflex. 

“Food first.” Victor pulls back enough to look at her, and her smile is completely genuine as she notices the light dusting of color on his cheeks. It’s a good look on him. One that she plans on seeing a lot of. 

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only thing that I really want to address is Bex’s mood swing in this chapter. In the warehouse, she had a surge of adrenaline. By the time she took a bath, the adrenaline had worn off and she started to “come down.” Everyone reacts to things differently, and the same person can even react differently depending on the circumstances of each separate situation. Bex currently has a concussion, which also affects mood, and she is a little crazy. For her, sometimes a good kill is like getting high. Then later there’s a come down, where her reactions can vary. In this case, her mood dropped dramatically, so that she went from a “high” to a very low “low.” It won’t be like this every time she has fun killing someone, but this is a possible reaction. (Take for example when she killed the four men in her first apartment; she felt perfectly fine afterwards and even went shopping. The reactions vary.)
> 
> I really like the next chapter, so I’ll try to update again soon!


	12. Chapter 12

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When the sun rises on a new day, Bex feels like a brand new person. Whatever melancholy feelings that were left over from her kill have been washed away by screams of Victor’s name, and her injuries don’t even hurt as much as she thought they would. Other parts of her body feel stretched and sore, but the dull aches make her feel a little lightheaded. Who knew sex could be so therapeutic? They spent hours locked away in the bedroom though, and she’s hungry. Nausea from the concussion has kept her from eating these past few days, but she’s feeling ravenous now.

“Eggs, definitely. Maybe sausage and bacon? Do we have any biscuits?” she asks as they walk down the stairs. She can feel Victor’s presence at her back, and his quiet hum sounds just above her head as they step into the kitchen. The sharp smell of coffee greets her, and she closes her eyes with a sigh at the delicious smell. Then it registers that no one has been downstairs since yesterday afternoon. 

“Mornin’.” The greeting is drawled out, cheerfully slow in a way that she recognizes from early mornings after late nights, and Bex realizes that she’s holding Victor’s wrist in her right hand. The hold she has on him means that his gun is angled just above their guest’s head, and it takes her a moment to make sense of the scene. There’s definitely a man sitting at the kitchen bar, with a steaming coffee cup in front of him, and his brown eyes look amused. She’s not sure why. Victor is a tense line along her back, and she knows that it would only be too easy for him to break her hold and fire. 

“Jackson?” The man in her kitchen raises his coffee cup towards her as he smiles, and she feels a headache starting. 

“Concussion got you this out of it? Or is he just that good?” The sound Victor makes is feral and causes blood to rise in her cheeks, and she leans back against him. 

“Trust me, he’s that good,” she hears herself say. Yep, that’s definitely Jackson sitting in her kitchen and drinking coffee. Why is Jackson sitting in her kitchen and drinking coffee? Wait, she hasn’t bought any coffee since moving to Gotham. Did he bring it with him?

“Bex?” Victor says her name in a low tone, one that causes her thighs to tense, and she looks over her shoulder. Victor’s eyes flick down to hers, but he doesn’t lower his gun. 

“Jackson’s an old friend. I’m not really sure why he’s here though.” She directs that last part at the man in question, but he just takes another sip of his coffee. 

“A friend?” Victor sounds unsure, which is reasonable. She’s never really talked about her life outside of Gotham. She’s never had a reason to. Jackson places his cup on the bar and then presses his palms flat against the countertop. It’s his way of showing that he’s not holding a weapon or planning on reaching for one, and she feels the tense feeling in her jaw subsiding. 

“I owe Bex a debt. She saved my life a couple of years ago, and I’m here to make good on that,” Jackson says smoothly. 

“He’s exaggerating. We had targets at the same resort. After I took care of my guy, I realized that Jackson’s guy’s bodyguard had a lover that was a little upset about his lover being assassinated. Jackson totally could’ve handled him, but I was bored,” Bex explains quickly. That’d been a fun week.

“He’d stabbed me in the back,” Jackson points out. 

“You already had the knife out.” Victor makes a noise behind her, clearly not amused by her back and forth with Jackson, and she turns around to smile at him. “Jackson’s a professional, like us. He’d never hurt me. Not even for the right price. Right, Jacks?” 

“Right, Bex.” She grins again, despite the flair of pain on the right side of her face, and then holds still as Victor searches her eyes. He must find what he’s looking for, because he returns the gun to the back of his sweatpants. 

“Do I have to feed him too?” he asks. Jackson makes a noise between a laugh and a snort, but Bex ignores him and rocks up onto her toes. Her right hand grips Victor’s bare left shoulder, because he’s still shirtless, and she presses a kiss against his chin. 

“If you don’t mind,” she says once her feet are flat against the ground. Victor grunts and walks over to the refrigerator, and Bex smiles to herself before smoothing out her expression and turning around. She walks carefully towards the bar, aware that she’s only wearing a pair of panties and one of Victor’s black button-ups, and hoists herself up onto a stool close to Jackson. There’s still one stool between them, some space, and she runs her eyes over the other assassin. 

“Damn, that asshole got you good, didn’t he, sweetheart?” Jackson reaches a hand out like he’s going to touch her face, but the quiet growl from Victor’s direction stops him. She knew Jackson was a smart one. 

“He got lucky, and he’s been dealt with.” Jackson grins at that, shows his teeth and crinkles the corners of his eyes, and she rolls her eyes. Others in their profession whispered about how she was crazy, took things too far, but Jackson always laughed and just called her eccentric. It’s one of the reasons she likes him. “What are you doing here, Jackson? I know you didn’t drop in for a friendly visit.”

“I’ve been hired by Gavin Hawthorne.” Her entire body goes still, she even stops breathing, and she hears Victor pause in the middle of cracking an egg. She takes a measured breath and never looks away from Jackson’s pretty brown eyes. _You look like some kind of demi-wolf on your way to save the damsel with your pretty gold eyes_ , she’d mumbled after they spent three days dodging bullets and grenades in some country she couldn’t pronounce the name of. Jackson had laughed and said the correct term for the color was _sweet as honey_ before shooting a man between the eyes, and now he’s come to Gotham to work for the man she’s set on killing? 

“And what’s this got to do with me?” she asks carefully. Jackson drops his elbow onto the counter and then rests his temple against his fist, a look of ease, and she waits for him to explain. 

“Officially, I’ve been hired to bring in Zsasz alive. From what I’ve gathered, Hawthorne believes that Zsasz is responsible for killing his family some years ago. One of his men has reported that Zsasz has grown close to a nightclub singer. I am to grab this nightclub singer, maybe rough her up a little, and draw Zsasz out. Hawthorne wants to be the one to kill him. I’m supposed to stay as insurance.”

“Sounds like quite the job.” Jackson hums quietly, and Bex can hear the muted sounds of Victor cooking breakfast. She has no doubt that he’s listening to every word though. 

“It took a couple of nights for me to recognize you. You look different without all of the tac gear.” She always stayed covered up on jobs; she always stayed covered up around people that could recognize her. 

“I decided to go au naturel.”

“Also took me a little while to recognize the name. Hawthorne? The whole family had your signature.” That makes her flush a little, and she shifts on her stool. 

“Signature?” Victor asks from the stove. Jackson raises a brow at her in question, and she stubbornly refuses to meet his eyes. 

“All assassins know Bexley Barba’s work. It’s the fingers that give it away.” There’s a trace of amusement in Jackson’s tone, and she groans quietly in something that almost feels like embarrassment. 

“You always break all ten fingers,” Victor says without turning around. 

“It wasn’t a conscious decision. It just sort of…happened,” she mumbles. She never planned on having a signature, but Jackson isn’t wrong. Most people in the business know her work because of that one little quirk in her killing ritual. “How’d you know about the Hawthorne family though? That was before I started attaching my name to kills.”

“Are you suggesting that I don’t do my research? I’m a fucking professional,” Jackson grins. 

“Point, but I still don’t understand why Hawthorne hired you. Gotham has no shortage of assassins.” Victor huffs from his place at the stove, but it’s true. There’s a whole network of assassins in Gotham. Jackson flicks his eyes over at Victor, and Bex takes a moment to watch the way that the muscles in his back shift as he moves. 

“Because Hawthorne wants to take on Victor Zsasz. No assassin in Gotham is stupid enough to go after the top dog.” She narrows her eyes at that particular phrasing but still feels a fissure of pride in her chest. Damn straight no one is stupid enough to go after Victor. “I almost told Hawthorne to shove it when I recognized you, but he’d just find someone else. So I thought I’d stick around and offer my services to you instead.”

“What do you think, Victor? Think we can use him?” Victor looks over his shoulder to meet her eyes, and she likes the way his lips curve into a smile. Pair that with the dark look in his eyes? She might have to kick Jackson out for an hour or two. 

“I think we can work something out.”

**.xXx.**

As far as plans go, it’s pretty simple and straightforward. Which doesn’t surprise Jackson too much. Bex has always been the straightforward type; it’s one of the things that makes working with her so enjoyable. Her assassin seems to be cut from the same cloth. Maybe a little more controlled, but Jackson can easily read the death in the other man’s eyes. (He won’t admit it to either of them, because he’d never live it down, but he doesn’t think he’d win against Zsasz. It’s a good thing that he’s on their side.)

“So I’ll take you when the time is right and keep you in one piece until Zsasz here shows up. Gonna have to put it off for a little while though.” Jackson drags his biscuit through some syrup before popping it into his mouth, and Bex’s left cheek is puffed out from all the bacon and eggs she’s been shoveling in. 

“Why?” Bex asks after she washes the food down with some orange juice. Fresh squeezed orange juice too. Jackson is only a few bites away from asking where he can find his own Victor Zsasz. 

“You need some time to heal up,” he says and points at her face. The concussion alone needs at least a week, and he doesn’t like the idea of abducting a woman with half of her face all banged up. His momma raised him better than that. 

“You think I can’t handle it?” Zsasz is watching the two of them with a blank face, but Jackson can see the man thinking behind his dark eyes. He’s analyzing everything they say and how they act, reading them, and Jackson is impressed. Hawthorne’s been calling Zsasz a mindless beast, but Hawthorne couldn’t be any more wrong. Zsasz is clearly intelligent. The man probably knows everything within his reach that can be used to kill Jackson without jostling Bex, who is sitting extremely close to the other assassin, but it’s more than just killing intelligence. Jackson makes his living killing people, sure, but a part of that is _reading_ people. He’s reading smarts on Victor Zsasz. 

“Ain’t about handling it, sweetheart. I’m a gentlemen. Can’t kidnap a woman with a face like tenderized hamburger meat.” The ball of Bex’s foot kicks out against his thigh, just above his knee, and it’s enough pressure in just the right place to make the lower half of his leg go numb. His right leg hangs uselessly from the stool, and he narrows his eyes on Bex’s grinning face. 

“You deserved that,” she says and then leans back against Zsasz. Her back curves against his front, so that the back of her head is cradled against his shoulder, and his arm wraps securely around her middle. The fingers of Bex’s right hand come up to dance around the tallies carved into his arm, and Jackson smiles at the sight. “What’s that look for?”

“The Bex I remember used to break arms for accidental touches. Never thought I’d see you all snuggled up to someone.” He’s crossed paths with people who have worked with Bex, and they all looked wary when her name was mentioned. Jackson just thinks they misunderstood her. Once you understand her, she’s pretty simple. When Bexley Barba smiled up at you and said no touching, she meant no touching. Half of his fond memories come from watching Bex expertly breaking bones whenever someone grabbed at her, or tried to. She’s such a fast little thing. 

“Victor’s special.” As if to emphasize her statement, she turns her head and lightly nuzzles against his throat. Zsasz just drops his cheek to the top of her head and keeps his eyes trained on Jackson. 

“I can see that.” His smile is a little gentler this time, not one of his usual grins or smirks, and Bex smiles back in an easy and carefree way. He’s seen her in the middle of a kill shrieking with laughter and then watched on as her eyes clouded over; he’s seen her skipping around dead bodies and then pulling at her hair as she asked her dead mother for forgiveness. He’s never seen her at peace. It’s a good look on the young assassin. 

“You need a place to stay, Jackson?” Zsasz tenses up at that, like he’s preparing for Bex to offer her home, and Jackson realizes that she probably is. He’d consider accepting, but now isn’t the time. They have a plan to stick to. Also, he doesn’t want to wake up to Zsasz smiling down at him before pulling the trigger. (In this scenario that exists entirely in his imagination, Zsasz would want Jackson to know who was killing him. He seems like that kind of guy.)

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I got a place.” Zsasz doesn’t make any kind of expression or any kind of sound, but something about the atmosphere changes. Maybe because he keeps referring to Bex as sweetheart? Old habits and all. 

“I’ll stay under the radar for a few days, so Mark won’t be able to report anything new. Keep in contact?” Bex asks him. He nods and then commits her phone number to memory, and he tips an imaginary hat to the both of them before leaving the apartment. He’s full from a good breakfast and has a solid plan in motion. His stay in Gotham is looking pretty promising.

**.xXx.**

“You trust him?” Victor’s washing the dishes, since her left hand is bandaged, so Bex props her hip against the counter next to him.

“I do. I’ve worked with a lot of people over the years, but Jackson is the only one I worked with more than once. He thinks I’m eccentric,” she says with a smile. For a time, she didn’t think that assassins could have friends. How could they? How do you trust people who kill for a living? Jackson is the closest she ever came to having a friend. She never told him what she did before leaving for Europe though, even when he asked.

“Is that all?” She reaches out to touch Victor’s arm, feels the way the lean muscles shift under his skin, and corrals her thoughts. 

“Jackson was my mentor; he took me in and trained me after I left Gotham, and he was very patient with me. Some of the others didn’t like my up-close-and-personal way of killing, but Jackson never minded. He’d just sit back and let me do whatever I wanted. He understood that I didn’t like to be touched, but he’d still dance with me when the high from a job well done didn’t fade immediately. Dancing without touching, with dead bodies everywhere. And then he’d just sit quietly when I got all melancholy. I liked working with him,” she shrugs. She was only seventeen when she met Jackson, and he was more than just a mentor. He was a friend, and some days he was the only thing that kept her sane. He looked out for her. 

“Without touching?” There’s a touch of possessiveness in Victor’s question, and it makes her light up inside. Feels her up with warmth. She rubs her cheek against his arm and tilts her head back to meet his eyes. 

“Without touching,” she confirms. “I trusted him, but we had no reason to be physically close. You’re more his type than I am.”

“Hmm.” It’s a quiet hum, and she can see Victor’s cheek twitch like he’s fighting down a smile. She likes it when Victor smiles. “And he does good work?”

“He taught me, so I’d say he’s pretty good.” She picked up a few things while killing the Hawthorne family, but she was still an amateur despite her body count. Jackson is the one that took the time to teach her how to be a real assassin. Made her even more deadly. 

“What’s his story?” She’s not sure it’s her place to tell Jackson’s business, but this is Victor. She knows whatever she tells him will be between the two of them. 

“Nothing complicated. Originally from Kansas. Only child raised by a single mother. We bonded over that. He joined the military when he was eighteen, but he refuses to tell me which branch. His mother got lung cancer, and the military didn’t pay enough to cover all of her medical bills. So after he was honorably discharged, he became an assassin. Better pay. He was able to pay off all the debt and keep his mother comfortable until the end. Then he just stuck with the assassination gig. Said something about familiarity.”

“You’ve never mentioned him.” Bex watches as the water from the sink slowly drains and then as Victor uses a dish towel to dry himself off. When he turns around to face her, she presses her right palm flat against the left side of his chest. 

“I didn’t think I’d see him again. Last I heard, he was working in Australia.” They parted ways about a year ago, and Bex thought that was the end of it. Especially since this thing started with Victor, because she’s not planning on leaving Gotham. “You do realize that we have today all to ourselves, right?”

“I could have errands to run.” Victor’s hands are on her hips, under the shirt she’s wearing, and she can feel his fingers lining up with the bruises already pressed into her skin. She smiles as she raises up on her toes and then nips at Victor’s jaw. When his hands tighten against her, she knows that he’s not going anywhere. Not for a good long while at least.

**.xXx.**

“Is that who I think it is?” Bex’s voice drifts out of the closet, and Victor finishes slipping on his shoulder holster as he goes to join her. She’s looking at one of the monitors, and he props his chin on top of her head so that he can see the screen. It doesn’t take more than a quick glance for him to recognize the man about to knock on the front door.

“Want me to answer it?” He stays pressed against her as he slips his guns into the holster, and she hums a little as she arches against him. Like a cat. 

“If you don’t mind. I’ll be right down.” She’s dressed in one of his plain black button-ups, and he carefully rolled the sleeves up to her elbows after she slipped it on. She’s not wearing any pants though. 

“Take your time.” He whispers it into her hair and then bends down just enough to bite the tip of her ear. It makes her squeal and then laugh, and she pushes at him with her right hand. He feels light on his feet as he makes his way down the stairs, and he hears the quick rap of knocks against the front door as he enters the kitchen. 

“Sir.” He says the word easily after the door swings open, and Cobblepot looks up at him with the barest hint of a smile. 

“Victor. How is Bexley?” He’s already stepping to the side so Cobblepot can walk inside, and he watches the way that he looks around the room. 

“She was able to keep her breakfast down. Stitches are still in place. The concussion gives her a constant headache and has her a little off balance. Other than that, she’s perfectly fine.” Sometimes it takes her a minute to answer a question; he can see her thinking things over slowly, but he knows that will clear up soon. It would help if she would agree to take something for the pain, but she says she doesn’t like the way they make her feel. 

“And the man responsible?” Cobblepot looks around the kitchen as he asks, and Victor crosses his arms as he leans back against the bar. 

“Dealt with,” he answers easily. 

“Oswald!” Bex’s voice echoes in the room before either of them can say anything else, and Cobblepot smiles outright as Bex walks into the kitchen. She’s wearing a pair of baggy purple shorts and has her hair pulled up on top of her head, and Victor quickly looks over her injuries. Left hand is still bandaged. Stark black stitches along the right side of her neck. Right side of her face is still a little swollen and purple. More stitches along her hairline and blending in with the bruises. 

“You look radiant, my dear,” Cobblepot says as Bex reaches for him with her right hand. Their fingers lace together, and Bex doesn’t wince as her smile stretches her bruised cheek. 

“I look like I got thrown into a wall,” Bex replies with a wide grin. It’s good that she’s in such a good mood. He likes it better when she’s smiling and laughing. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Do I need a reason to visit my favorite employee?” Bex’s smile is full of mischief when she looks over at Victor, and he lets one side of his lips twitch upwards. 

“Hear that, Victor? I’m the favorite.” She’s teasing him, so she must be in a good mood. 

“Only because the boss has good taste,” he says and straightens up. He has a few things to do before the day is over, and Bex looks over at Cobblepot with an expression that he can’t see. Whatever it is, it causes Cobblepot to release her hand. Bex easily walks over to him, quietly and up on her toes, and she winds her arms around his shoulders. 

“Be safe?” she asks him. She knows that he’s going to meet with Max and Jade, to update them on the newest development, but she’s not going to say that in front of Cobblepot. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Her lips purse but she doesn’t say anything, and her right hand tightly grips the back of his neck when he leans down to kiss her. He keeps it light, because of their present company, and his eyes track the way her tongue sweeps across her bottom lip when he pulls back. He forces his eyes away from her face and over at Cobblepot, and he dips his chin. “Sir.”

“Try not to have too much fun, Victor,” Cobblepot says as he steps away from Bex. She grins at him as she stands next to Cobblepot again, and Victor grunts in place of an answer and moves towards the front door. He doesn’t have to explain himself to Cobblepot, and Bex already knows what his plans for the day are. 

The rest of the day passes by without incident. He meets with Max and Jade, at his own private residence, and tells them about the assassin that Hawthorne has hired. When they start to look upset on Bex’s behalf, he explains that the man is an old friend of Bex’s and is going to work with them. They seem to relax at that, and they spend the rest of the evening making sure that Mark understands his job in the coming days. Once Bex has healed enough, they’ll prepare for her “abduction.” The sooner that all of this is over with, the better Victor will feel. Bex needs for this to be handled, and he doesn’t like the sound of Gavin Hawthorne. The man honestly thinks that Victor can be killed so easily and that he can take over Gotham from Cobblepot? Yes, he needs to be dealt with sooner rather than later. 

By the time he leaves the house, the sky is dark and the city is just starting to come alive. He winds his way through the streets until he reaches _Oswald’s_ , and cold blue eyes peer up at him from under a mop of frizzy red hair. Ivy’s face remains expressionless as she uncurls from the ball that she’s in, and Victor holds still as the girl looks him over. She makes note of the guns on his sides, still without any kind of discernible expression, and she clicks her tongue once before turning on her heel and walking off. Victor falls into step just behind her and replays what Bex told him about their last dinner together. Ivy questioned Bex, about him, because the little orphan has become attached to Bex. 

“The woman with one eyebrow said that Bex was in an accident.” They’re sitting in the diner and already have their food in front of them, and it’s the first time that Ivy has spoken. She’s not even eating yet. She’s just staring across the table at him. 

“She was.” Her small hands press against the table, and her fingers tap against the scarred tabletop. 

“She fall down the stairs or something?” His head tilts to the side as he looks at the girl, and she copies the move so that their eyes stay locked. Bex told him that she was sure that Ivy’s father was abusive; definitely abused the girl’s mother and possibly the girl as well. Falling down the stairs is a common lie to cover up domestic abuse. Maybe the unhinged street rat is more intelligent than he originally gave her credit for. 

“A woman was attacked in an alley, and Bex tried to help. The guy hurt her, but she’s okay.” It’s the simplest way to explain what happened, and he can see the way that Ivy’s hands shake against the top of the table. She’s probably starving, but she’s holding back. 

“You kill the guy that hurt her?” Nothing about the child’s face changes. She could be asking if it’s raining outside. 

“He’s dead, yes.” Bex would probably try to sugarcoat the answer for the child, but he doesn’t see the point. Her father was framed by the mob and killed by police, and her mother committed suicide. She lives on the streets of Gotham. Sugarcoating things will just get her killed quicker. 

“Good.” With that said, Ivy digs into her food. After a moment’s thought, Victor pinches off a bite of his own vegetarian burger. Like Bex usually does. Ivy doesn’t say anything else as she quickly eats her food, and it’s almost like watching Bex eat. The girl barely pauses long enough to take a full breath in between bites, and her plate is clean in minutes. Once her plate is clean, she reaches across the table to eat the untouched half of Victor’s meal. 

“If Bex wanted you to come home with her, would you?” He can see the…longing look in Bex’s eyes whenever she talks about Ivy. Something about the little orphan eats at her, and he’s surprised that she hasn’t brought the kid home yet. 

“My foster parents wanted to change me. They even gave me a different name.” She’s eating what’s left of his fries now and drinking his milkshake. 

“Bex wouldn’t ask you to change anything.” He knows he can’t speak for Bex, but he knows her well enough to know that much. Bex likes the kid, just the way she is. 

“I’ll think about it,” Ivy says and slides out of the booth. Victor pays for their food, and he’s surprised to see Ivy waiting for him outside. She tips her head back so that she can look up at him, and Victor stands still to see what the strange girl will say next. When they hit the one minute mark, he grits his teeth and realizes that she’s waiting on him. 

“Take care, Ivy.” It’s what Bex normally says to the girl. Her smile is sudden and somewhat mechanical; the muscles in her face expand, but her eyes stay cold. 

“Take care, Victor.” She easily steps around him and heads back towards the Narrows, and Victor resists the urge to shake his head at the girl’s odd behavior. Instead, he starts walking towards home. 

He’s halfway there when a figure appears in the corner of his eye, and he’s impressed that the man was able to get that close without making a sound. When he looks over, Jackson has his hands stuffed into the pockets of his plain black jacket. Once he realizes that Victor is looking at him, he purposefully scuffs his boots against the sidewalk and hunches his shoulders forward against the wind. Victor’s determined to not be the first one to talk this time, so he waits the other man out. He doesn’t have to wait long. 

“The first time I saw Bex was in a bar in Bremen. Electric blue hair in a mohawk, full tac gear, and surrounded by sixteen bodies. She was dancing on the bar and singing along to some German song, off-key, while her seventeenth kill played a piano with ten broken fingers. I didn’t even think she’d noticed me, her back was to me anyway, when she asked if I was there to dance. I’d been hired to kill her. She made some assassin network nervous; they kept saying she was sloppy because she preferred to kill with her hands, but they were idiots. Bex is efficient. She doesn’t just kill her target. She kills everyone around her target and takes pride in her work. I taught her how to shoot, how to fight strategically, how to cover her tracks…but I didn’t teach her how to kill.”

“And you’re telling me this because?” Jackson has an easy way of speaking. His voice isn’t deep but still pitched low, his tone flows up and down so that it always sounds like he’s telling some kind of story, and his lack of an accent makes each word crisp and clear. Listening to him is easy, and Victor can almost picture the scene he described. Can see the smile on Bex’s face as she dances around dead bodies. 

“Because she’s the boss.” At Victor’s sharp look, Jackson grins and then reaches up to scrub a hand through his black hair. “Body language doesn’t lie. Usually. She moves and you follow. I ain’t saying there’s anything wrong with it. That girl is a force of nature.”

“You’re not wrong,” Victor admits. He’s only seen her kill twice, but that’s still enough to convince him that there’s something different about her. Something more. 

“I didn’t know about the Hawthorne family. Didn’t even know she was from Gotham. I don’t know what her actual body count is, but I’ve personally seen her drop sixty-seven. I might have served as a mentor, but that woman is damn awe-inspiring.”

“As fascinating as I find this, I’m not seeing a point.” The Hawthorne family alone had to be at around forty people; he remembers seeing the list in a newspaper. Her kill count is well over a hundred by this point. It’s double his own tally, possibly three times his tally. 

“My point, Zsasz, is that she’s special. She needs someone that can understand her and keep up with her. I think you can be that for her. If you can’t, get out now.” For just a moment, a millisecond, his vision darkens. When his eyes clear, his hand is fisted around the collar of Jackson’s plain white tee shirt and he has the man pinned against a building. Brown eyes, an unusual shade that’s both lighter and brighter than Bex’s eyes, look up at him calmly. Jackson has the gall to smile up at him, because he’s a few inches shorter. 

“I’m not leaving her.” Victor’s voice is calm, his tone perfectly level, but his entire body is tensed up in anticipation of a fight. 

“Thought that’s what you’d say. Wanna let me go now?” He releases the hold on Jackson’s shirt and then smooths out the wrinkles, which just makes the man quirk a brow at him. When Victor resumes walking, Jackson falls into step next to him. 

“Did you track me down for a shovel talk?” That’s what this was. Jackson feels protective over Bex, somewhat, so he’s looking out for her best interests. It’s the only reason why Victor is allowing him to keep breathing. 

“No, that was just a bonus.” Victor just glances over at him, and Jackson’s quiet huff sounds amused. “Hawthorne is leaving the city for a couple of days. Something business related, I think. There was a lot of yelling and fancy words and something about shoes being shoved in unsavory places. I didn’t really pay attention to the actual subject matter. He wants me to keep an eye out for Bex and get a space ready for the big day. Any suggestions?”

“I’ll find something suitable.” He’s almost to the apartment building now, and he hears the quiet sound of Jackson zipping his jacket up. 

“I’ll call Bex tomorrow to check in. Night, Zsasz.” Victor doesn’t say anything, but he is impressed when Jackson seems to just melt away. He’s quick and quiet, good at his job, and Victor thinks over all the new information as he rides the elevator up to the top floor. Such an illuminating day. 

The apartment is dark when he walks inside, and he stops in the kitchen for a quick look around. There are two plates, two bowls, two glasses, and a large pot in the sink. The kitchen smells like boiled meat and vegetables, so it looks like Bex managed to cook something without setting the apartment on fire. He makes his steps loud as he walks up the stairs, and he can just see the foot of the bed through the open doorway as he reaches the top of the staircase. Bex meets his eyes as soon as he steps inside, and she looks comfortable sprawled out on top of the sheets. The blanket is kicked down around her feet, and there’s a book resting on her stomach. 

“Fun day?” she asks him. The unbruised part of her face is resting against a pillow, and the fingers of her right hand tap against the spine of the book. 

“Interesting,” he answers. As he changes out of his clothes, he tells her about his meeting with Max and Jade. By the time he’s moved on to his dinner with Ivy, he’s in loose sweatpants and lying on the bed next to Bex. When he tells her about his conversation with Jackson, her cheek is pressed against his chest and her book is discarded on the bedside table. She hums and taps against his ribcage as he talks, and he feels the edge of her smile as he finishes talking. 

“Crazy assassin pulled up a stool at the end of the bar, helped himself to some top shelf liquor, and then asked me if I wanted to help him kill the people who put the hit out on me. It was the start of a fun partnership,” she says quietly. He curls his hand around her shoulder blade and listens to the sound she makes deep in her throat. Sounds close to a purr. 

“And what did you do today?” Bex stretches against him and hooks her leg around one of his, and the tip of her nose drags down his sternum. Cold. Maybe he should turn on the heat before they fall asleep. 

“I made sandwiches for lunch, for me and Oswald. We ate them and then watched soap operas for most of the afternoon. Then he made us some soup for dinner. It was kind of amazing, not gonna lie, and there’s leftovers in the fridge if you’re still hungry. It was a pretty peaceful day, considering I spent it with Gotham’s number one mob boss, but he had to leave for some kind of big important meeting. Said he could already feel the headache from dealing with so many idiots.”

“Which is why I don’t go to the meetings,” Victor says and starts to trace patterns across the bare skin of Bex’s back. His index finger stutters against the raised scar tissue, but it makes Bex sigh happily. 

“How do you get out of that anyway?” She shifts so that her chin is propped against the bottom of his chest, and he raises his head just enough to look her in the eye. 

“I send one of the girls. I think tonight is Max’s turn.” The girls go to the big meetings and report the important stuff back to him, so Victor doesn’t have to attend the meetings. Not unless Cobblepot asks for him specifically. 

“Then I guess you’re making chocolate chip pancakes for brunch tomorrow.” His confusion must show on his face, because Bex smiles at him. “They’re Max’s favorite. I think you owe it to her.”

“Chocolate chip pancakes?”

“Mhmm. Jade likes blueberry muffins.” He has other girls, besides Max and Jade, but those two have been with him the longest. He doesn’t want to call them his favorites, but he’s sure that they are. Seeing Bex bond with the two of them, seeing how much they respect Bex, means something to him. 

“I’ll cook, but you have to invite them.”

“Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I am still alive! I got really sick for a while, so I had to deal with Health Issues and Real Life, but I’m starting to feel better. Before I took a turn for the worse, I wrote up through to Chapter 17 on this story. I’ve started Chapter 18, so I’ll hopefully be able to start up writing again soon. Also, Season Four is going to be here in just a few days! There’s been some Victor teasers, so maybe we’ll get to see more of my favorite psychopath in this season. Until then, enjoy!
> 
> First things first, I _love_ Jackson. Don’t get me wrong, I love Bex too, but Jackson is one of my favorite OCs of all time. Just sayin’. (Also, for people who like visuals, I picture him as James Ransone.) Next, I know this chapter probably felt a little slow, but Bex is still healing and parts of the plot are being moved around. The next chapter is going to cover what happened in 2x04, so that should be interesting!
> 
> As always, THANK YOU so much to everyone reading!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve only seen the first episode of Season Four, but there was so much Zsasz! I nearly gave my dog a heart attack, because I couldn’t control my high-pitched squealing every time he was on screen. Clearly, I have a problem, but I’m okay with it. Because Zsasz is the best. I don’t want to know any spoilers, but does anyone know if he’s in the next two episodes? (I’m going to keep watching regardless, but I’m curious.)
> 
> This chapter takes place during 2x04, so a lot of scenes are going to revolve around events that happened in that episode. Don’t worry though, the chapter doesn’t describe what was shown in the episode because I think that’d be a little redundant.

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap13_zpsopznhy1a.gif.html)

“You’re going to spoil us, Miss Bex,” Max says and delicately cuts another triangle of pancake. Bex could watch the graceful movement of the woman’s hands for hours, but she keeps getting distracted by the sound of Jade’s boots against the floor.

“Everyone deserves some pampering every now and then,” Bex says easily. Victor snorts behind her, and she reclines back against his chest. They’re sitting out on the patio, enjoying breakfast instead of brunch, and the weak sunlight feels good against her skin. 

“The meeting?” Victor prompts. Jade is humming under her breath, a song that Bex can’t name, and Max dabs at the corner of her lips before answering. 

“Cobblepot is still looking for whoever orchestrated the Arkham breakout. No one knows who did it. There was some yelling, Cobblepot got to fire a shot into the ceiling, and the whole thing was pretty much useless. Saw something interesting on my way out though.” Bex has her legs splayed on either side of Victor’s thighs, and she tenses her legs as she leans forward to drop her elbows onto the table. 

“How interesting?” she asks.

“Saw a woman going in while the rest of us were leaving. Not someone I recognized.”

“Or me,” Jade adds before going back to her food. Max continues as if she was never interrupted. 

“So we stuck around. Cobblepot left with her, without Butch. Came back an hour later, and he didn’t look happy. Something went down last night.” With that said and done, Max returns to eating her breakfast. Bex leans back against Victor and turns to look at him. 

“Should we look into it?” she asks him. As Oswald’s nightclub singer, she can’t really do much. Victor, on the other hand, can make a different call. 

“He would have called me if it was something serious,” Victor says after a moment. 

“So what’s the plan for today, boss lady?” Jade asks her. Her face doesn’t hurt quite as bad this morning, but she still feels a little fuzzy around the edges. She nearly tripped trying to get out of the shower, so she’s still off balance. As much as she hates to admit it, she needs to stay put. For at least another day. 

“Light day for me, days maybe. Depends on how long it takes for the concussion to fuzz out. Can one of you check in on Ivy tonight?” she asks the girls. Jade looks over at Max, and Bex watches on as the two women have a silent conversation. She finds it fascinating that the two of them can speak without ever uttering a single word. 

“I’m looking forward to meeting the little doll,” Max says with a slow smile. 

“And what about you, boss man?” Jade asks. 

“I’m staying with Bex. Unless you need me to hold your hand?” Max rolls her eyes while Jade cackles, and Bex turns to nuzzle against Victor’s neck. Maybe she should leave a mark above the edge of his collar. It’s only fair since she has her share of visible bruises. 

“Call us if you need us,” Max says to her after breakfast has been cleared away. 

“Or if you get bored,” Jade grins. Victor shoos them away, and Bex waves to them with her good hand until the front door closes behind them. Once they’re gone, Bex sags against Victor’s side. She’s been awake for two hours, barely, but she feels absolutely exhausted. She’s blaming the concussion. 

“As much as I would love to throw you to the ground and have my wicked way with you, I think we’ll have to postpone until my brain is repaired.” Victor’s laugh is quiet, more of a forceful exhale tinged with humor, but her laugh is loud and echoing as he scoops her up into his arms. 

“Where to?” he asks her. They could go back to bed and spend the day cuddling, but her thoughts get too loud without something to occupy her. Since she doesn’t feel strong enough to occupy herself with exploring every inch of Victor, the bedroom is probably not the best idea. 

“Couch. I wanna watch my soaps.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” Despite the words, Victor is already walking out of the kitchen and into the living room. He settles himself down on the couch, lying down with his head propped on one of the little throw pillows, and he places her on his torso. She curls up on top of him, pain-free cheek on his chest, and tangles her legs with his as she starts to click through channels. 

“Any preferences?” Victor just grunts, which she takes as an answer of don’t-care. She can work with that. 

The morning doesn’t drag by or fly; it’s hard to keep track of time at all as she flips between daytime soap operas and talk shows. She only knows it’s noon when the news comes on, and she puts the remote down as she listens to the reporter. Mayoral candidates. Fun. Then the woman is talking about that billionaire from the Hospital Gala. The guy who killed the redhead. (The kid had so much potential; she’s a little sad that he’s dead.) Theo Galavan. That’s the billionaire’s name. The man is receiving some kind of award or something when someone starts shooting at him, but he manages to duck and remain unscathed. Then he’s talking about running for Mayor. 

“There’s something not right about him.” Victor’s been so quiet that she thought he was asleep, but his chest rumbles under her cheek when he speaks. She stretches on top of him to get into a more comfortable position and listens as the man gets into the high points of his speech. 

“He’s up to no good. Only the nefarious can give speeches that passionate,” she agrees. She can feel eyes on her, so she twists a little to meet Victor’s eyes. He looks amused, probably at her word choice, and she grins toothily at him. “Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not wrong. He’s up to something.” Victor’s brows draw together as he thinks something over, and she reaches up to touch the wrinkles above the ridge of his nose. She expects him to speculate on Galavan’s insidious plot, but he’s clearly moved on to more important things. “Leftover soup for lunch?”

**.xXx.**

His breathing is still out of rhythm when his phone starts ringing, and Bex huffs out a laugh against his chest. The warm puffs of air tingle against his sweat slick skin, and he hisses quietly when Bex drags her teeth across his sternum. The leather of the couch squeaks under his back as he stretches to reach the phone on the table, and he can feel Bex’s bare skin sliding against his as he brings the phone to his ear.

“What?” If the call had come in two minutes earlier, the word would have been snapped out. Or, more likely, the call would have been ignored completely. Instead he sounds relaxed, because he is. Bex teased him for what felt like hours, the muscles in his legs and back feel stretched, but he can’t remember the last time he felt this…content. 

“Jade and I tailed Cobblepot after that guy was shot at this morning. Followed him to Janice Caulfield’s office,” Max reports without any further prompting. 

“She’s super dead, by the way!” Jade calls out. Since Bex is pressed flush against him, she can hear everything that’s being said. She makes a quiet sound in her throat, but it sounds rough because of her strained vocal cords. 

“Cobblepot has no reason to kill Caulfield,” Victor points out. His own voice sounds a little rough, but Max and Jade wisely don’t comment on it. 

“He did. Why would Cobblepot kill anyone?” Max asks. 

“That’s what we’re for!” Jade adds. Caulfield is high profile, so Cobblepot should have come to him first. 

“Keep an eye on him,” Victor finally says. He waits for Max to give a hum of acknowledgement before ending the call, and he drops the phone onto the table before looking at Bex. Her left cheek is still a little red, flush from being so active, but the sweat coating them is starting to dry. 

“Nefarious things are afoot,” Bex whispers and flicks her tongue out to catch a drop of sweat on his collarbone. He tightens his hand in her hair and pulls her up for a biting kiss, and he doesn’t let go until he tastes copper. When she pulls back, she’s smiling and starting to breathe shallowly again. 

“Something isn’t right. Cobblepot leaves the dirty work to us.” Some jobs are tasked to Victor directly; others are handed down to him to do with as he sees fit, and he passes on the smaller jobs to one of his girls. Cobblepot killing someone like Caulfield makes no sense. 

“Maybe you should talk to him tomorrow?” Bex offers as she sits up. Her tan skin is crisscrossed with scars, and he runs careful fingers along the softest parts of her. 

“Tomorrow?” he asks her. It’s late, decent people are in bed at this hour, and Bex shifts her hips as she looks down at him. 

“Definitely tomorrow. Right now, I think it’s time for a bath. Don’t you?” Her laugh is raspy as he tightens an arm around the small of her back and moves to his feet, and she darts forward to bite along the line of his shoulder. Tomorrow. He’ll figure out what’s going on with Cobblepot tomorrow.

**.xXx.**

“I hate waiting.” Brown eyes peer at her from over a full coffee cup, even though the sun set about two hours ago, and she knows for sure that she didn’t buy the coffee that he’s drinking. So how’d it get into her apartment? When?

“I remember.” Jackson smiles at her, more of a smirk than anything else, and she rolls her eyes. “Surprised you have the energy to be antsy.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says with her most innocent look. It’s a little hard to make doe eyes when her face is still all bruised up, but she thinks she manages. Jackson reaches out, and she leans back out of the way before he can poke the left side of her neck. 

“Pretty sure it was fadin’ the other day. Now I’m sure I can see teeth marks along the edges. Don’t that hurt?” They’re sitting in the living room, on opposite ends of the couch, with their feet kicked up on the coffee table. Bex’s feet are bare, toes wiggling free, but Jackson is wearing his usual heavy work boots. 

“In the best kind of way,” she grins. She spent most of the day with Victor, mostly undressed, and she felt better with each passing hour. She nearly feels like her old self, except for the itchiness of her stitches. Victor left about an hour ago after getting a call from Oswald, so she called Jackson over for a friendly visit. She’s missed her mentor. 

“Please tell me you left your own mark on him. Equality and all that,” Jackson drawls out. The smile he quirks at her reveals the deep dimple in his left cheek, and she smiles at the look. She’s always loved it when Jackson was relaxed, and he rarely ever really smiles at anyone. Just wide toothy grins and sharp smirks. She prefers his cute dimple. 

“Of course. I’m just a little more tactful and leave my marks on places that can be covered up. Victor’s slightly more possessive.” She pokes the side of her neck as she finishes speaking and curls her toes against the hot ache. There’s a similar bite mark above her right knee and another one against her left shoulder blade. 

“Good. It means he knows he’s got something good.” The sound she makes is faux outrage, and she presses her right hand against her chest as she narrows her eyes. 

“Are you calling me a possession?”

“Never, sweetheart.” Their grins are like mirror images, and Bex sighs as she leans her head back against the couch. One hour and she’s already missing him. 

“Do you think he’s having fun?” she asks as she looks up at the ceiling. 

“I’m sure he’s painting the town red.” That image is enough to have her laughing, loud and unrestrained, and she’s happy to hear Jackson’s own roaring laughter joining her. It feels good to laugh, especially to the image of Victor letting loose and having a good time.

**.xXx.**

“Are you bleeding in my car?” Cobblepot is looking over his shoulder and into the backseat, and Victor meets his eyes with one hand pressed tight against his left shoulder. He’s got blood on his new pin.

“I’ll have one of my girls clean it up,” Victor grits out as he gets his phone. He sends a quick text to Jade, telling her to take his car back to the house, and then looks up to meet Cobblepot’s eyes. 

“Do you need a doctor?” He shifts so that he can feel the back of his shoulder, the sharp burn of an exit wound, and shakes his head.

“Just drop me off at Bex’s. Sir.” The honorific gets added in as an afterthought, but Cobblepot’s eyes still narrow on him.

“Is that wise in your condition?” Most people would probably be alarmed at the sight of a gunshot wound, and Bex is playing at being a normal person. For the most part anyway. 

“She has experience in patching people up.” Her actual experience, that he knows of, comes from patching herself up. She’s tended to her own gunshot wounds, and this one is fairly straightforward. Through and through. Cobblepot nods and tells Butch where to go, and Victor closes his eyes as the car rolls down the streets. He doesn’t open his eyes again until the car comes to a stop, and Cobblepot is already looking at him. 

“If either of you need anything.” Cobblepot doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. 

“Of course, sir.” He slides out of the car with ease and takes the back stairs instead of the elevator, just in case, and he lets himself into the apartment. The first thing he hears is Bex’s raised voice, followed by Jackson’s high-pitched yell, and then laughter. He closes the door behind him, loud enough to register, and hears the laughter trail off. 

“My honey’s home!” Bex’s yell is accompanied by the sound of bare feet on hardwood floors, and he only gets to see Bex’s wide smile and shining eyes for a few seconds. Her eyes only meet his for a heartbeat before looking at his shoulder, and he can tell that she can see the blood despite the dark fabric. “What happened?”

“Nothing serious,” he answers quickly. Jackson walks up behind her, and the man quickly takes in the way that Victor is holding himself. 

“Looks like honey went and got himself shot.” Bex’s eyes darken as color floods her cheeks, clear signs of growing anger, and he watches as her entire body tenses up to what has to be the point of pain. “Should I go?”

“No. I can’t sew for shit with my right hand. Can Jackson patch you up?” Bex asks him. He knows that if he refuses, Bex will send the man away. He can see the way that her right hand is shaking though, and he wants to get these holes closed up as quickly as possible. 

“Does he know how?” Jackson snorts, and Bex reaches back blindly to slap her knuckles against his chest. He rocks back on his heels but doesn’t make a sound, and Bex quickly walks over to where Victor is still standing. She grabs his left wrist and starts pulling him towards the stairs, and he follows after her. He can sense Jackson behind him, even if he can’t hear him, and Bex pulls him all the way to the bathroom. 

“First-aid kit is under the sink,” Bex says as she turns to face him. He can hear Jackson moving behind him, but he keeps his eyes on Bex’s face as her shaking right hand starts unbuttoning his jacket and shirt. “Alright, now tell us what happened. I want details, Victor.”

“Is that an order?”

“You bet your ass it is.” She grins up at him, but her eyes still look dark. When the second to last button on his shirt refuses to budge, she growls under her breath and just tugs to rip the last two buttons off. Effective. 

“Cobblepot sent me after Hobbs…”

As he goes over the details of the night, Bex pulls his jacket and shirt off. His holsters and guns are already on the sink, and he doesn’t remember her disarming him. That’s not a good sign. When Bex lightly pushes on his right shoulder, he goes with the push and sits on the edge of the tub. Bex sits on his right thigh and asks quiet questions whenever he pauses while Jackson cleans the blood off him. He stops a few times as Jackson carefully cleans the bullet holes and sews him up, but Bex gets the full story out of him. He finishes a few minutes before Jackson does, and all three of them are quiet as Jackson tapes up his shoulder. It limits his mobility. 

“Police officers armed with automatics. Gotham really is something else,” Jackson says quietly. The bullet went through the top of his shoulder, without damaging bone or anything important, but it’ll still mess him up for at least a week. That’s all he’ll allow. 

“Jackson? You can show yourself out, right?” Bex asks without looking away from Victor’s face. 

“Can do, sweetheart. I’ll bring by nourishment tomorrow.” Jackson takes a few steps back, and Victor looks away from Bex’s dark eyes and over at the man who just stitched him up. He’s washing the blood off of his hands in the sink, sleeves pushed up to just under his elbows, and he’s humming quietly. He uses the corner of a bloody towel to dry himself off, and he pulls his sleeves back down as he looks over at the two of them. “Take it easy, honey.”

Jackson is already out of the room, possibly the apartment, when Victor realizes that the last part was directed at him. It does explain Bex’s quiet huff that followed the statement. Victor looks over at Bex, who is still perched on his right thigh, once he’s sure that the apartment is empty except for the two of them. The look in her eyes is still dark, still murderous, and he watches as a small tremor rocks her body. It’s like she’s fighting to hold herself back. When he just keeps looking at her, she shifts so that she’s standing between his spread knees. 

“You should probably lay down,” she says and lightly touches his cheek. He shakes his head and enjoys the feeling of her fingertips moving across his skin. 

“Tallies first.” He won’t be able to sleep until his count is accurate, and the pain in his shoulder dims as Bex leans to the side to grab the small knife in the first-aid kit. Most of his left arm, from wrist to elbow, is lined with tallies. There’s one above his elbow, under the curve of his bicep, and Bex holds his arm steady as she presses the knife next to that singular mark. 

“Four, right?” she asks as she drags the knife down. It’s the same length as the scabbed over mark, the same depth, and her eyes flick over to his as she moves the knife to make another mark. 

“Four,” he says after the second tally is made. The third is created soon after, and Bex briefly squeezes his arm before cutting the fourth tally into his skin. The scabbed over mark splits as the grouping is completed, but Bex is cleaning the blood away before his next deep breath. He notices that her right hand is still shaking as she swabs him with disinfectant and then carefully slaps a Band-Aid on him, and it takes her two tries to close the first-aid kit. He reaches over with his right hand to grab her shaking fingers, and she bites the corner of her lip as she looks at him. 

“I want to kill them. I want to march into the precinct and rip out their throats with my bare hands. _They hurt you_.” Her last sentence is said from between clenched teeth, and he realizes that she’s shaking all over now. Not violently. Barely noticeable. Small shivers are showing in her bare arms, because she’s wearing a plain yellow tank top that’s lightly splattered with his blood now. 

“It’s superficial.” He’s been shot before, will probably be shot again, but Bex looks like she’s ready go on a full-blown killing spree. For him. Her shaking hand grips the back of his neck as her forehead presses against his, and he can feel her rapid breaths against his dry lips. 

“Some asshole _shot_ you.” Her voice has dropped into a low growl, and he can feel her nails digging into the back of his neck. She’s shaking like she’s going to fall apart. Tense enough to break. It takes some quick maneuvering, but he uses his right arm to hold her up and then pull her down against him. His arm is braced against her back and he’s moved his legs between hers, spread wide so that she’s balancing carefully to straddle his thighs, and he grunts out a quiet sound of pain as her arms scramble to wrap around his shoulders. His left shoulder is barely jarred, but the pain is fresh and clears out his head. “Shit! Victor! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“You’re too tense.” That’s stating the obvious. Now that she’s holding onto him to stay upright, since she’s balanced a little precariously on his lap while he sits on the edge of the tub, he moves his right arm around to the front of her body. She makes a curious sound as his fingers slip under her tank top and trail along the top of her shorts, and he can feel how out of rhythm her breathing is because their chests are pushed together. 

“I’m not tense. I’m pissed off. There’s a difference.” His fingers dip below the waistline of her shorts and panties in one go, and she stills against him. Even her breath stutters to a stop before picking up in double-time. “I don’t think now is the time.”

“You need to relax.” He says it as his fingers trail down the line of her, and she tries to buck her hips but can’t because of the way she’s sitting. He can feel the muscles of her thighs shifting as she manages to move, but he slips two fingers inside of her before she can slip away from him. Her arms tighten around his neck as she cries out, and he curls his fingers as she whines high in the back of her throat.

“Victor.” She pauses after she says his name, lets out another quiet sound as he pushes against her, and he feels her breathe out against his ear. “You’re hurt.”

“Not that hurt,” he says and twists his wrist. This time when she shakes against him, it’s from pleasure instead of anger. 

“Don’t have to,” she huffs out as she manages to roll her hips. She shouldn’t be able to, not with the way he’s holding her off balance, but she’s always surprising him. 

“Tell me why you’re so angry.” Her arms are tightening across his back as her hips rock harder, and he slips a third finger inside of her so that he can hear her cry out again. Teeth dig into his right shoulder, deep enough to bruise and possibly break skin, and she turns to rest her cheek on his shoulder as her breathing speeds up. Nails are scoring the skin stretched over his shoulder blades, and Bex moans quietly every time he twists his fingers. 

“Because you’re mine.” She punctuates the claim with a harsh thrust of her hips, nearly violent enough to tip him backwards, but he doesn’t move with her. Holds his ground instead and listens to Bex’s bitten off scream as he begins to circles his thumb where she’s more sensitive. Her back bows as she pushes closer to him, and she shakes apart with his name howled against the side of his neck.

“Isn’t that better?” Whimpers drift out of her parted lips as she comes back down, and he moves his right hand to grip her hip. It takes a couple of minutes before she can drag herself upright, and the dark look in her eyes has faded into something a little more dazed. Her lips are bitten red and a little swollen, and her lashes are clumped together with moisture. 

“You look way too smug for someone who just got shot.” Her voice is a little hoarse, but she’s smiling again.

“Not smug. Just proud of a job well done.” She rolls her eyes but still darts forward to kiss him, slowly like they have all the time in the world, and she doesn’t pull back until his chest is burning with the need to breathe. Then she pulls all the way back, off of his lap, and he notes the way that her thighs shake as her legs move to support her. 

“I still wanna kill them,” she says as she reaches forward and pulls him up. She wets the already bloody towel and then swipes it across the top of his back, and he feels the stinging lines. Her nails must have drawn blood. He knows the marks aren’t too deep because she doesn’t move to bandage him. She pats him dry and then drops to her knees.

“Can I talk you into doing this again sometime?” Being shot and losing blood has taken a toll on his body, but his body is still trying to react to the sight of Bex kneeling in front of him. Her steady right hand quickly pulls at the laces on his boots, and he obediently lifts his feet so that she can pull his shoes off. 

“Once you’re all better, I’ll do whatever you want.” She actually winks at him as she pops the button on his pants and pulls down the zipper, and he looks up at the ceiling as she pulls his pants completely off. After his clothes have all been tossed into the black laundry basket, Bex pulls him into the bedroom. He’s still wearing boxer briefs, so Bex gently pushes him into bed before disappearing back into the bathroom. 

He can hear the quiet rustling of fabric, so he knows that she’s removing her bloodstained clothes. Then there’s the sound of rushing water, which means that she’s washing herself off. Quiet crinkling and hissing signals that she’s tending to her own injuries, and the new aches in his body have dulled into a hot thrum when she walks back out into the bedroom. He watches the way the faint lamp light plays over her bared skin, over tan damp flesh and rough marks. Even the dark ink seems to stand out more as she moves over to the closet. She comes out a few minutes later dressed in one of his black tee shirts and baggy white shorts, and she has one knee on the bed when there’s a knock on the door. 

“Don’t answer it,” he says and reaches out to touch the burn scars on top of her thigh. 

“Very few people know where I live,” she says and hops backwards. She ducks back into the closet, probably to look at the security feed, and he can hear her laughing quietly. She’s grinning when she steps back into the bedroom. “Oh, I’m definitely answering it. Stay quiet.”

She’s out of the room before he can say anything else, and he forces himself to move out of the bed. He walks over to the closet and looks at the security feed just in time to see Bex greet Detective Gordon.

**.xXx.**

_“I’ll face whatever’s coming to me.”_

_“As will I. Goodbye, Jim.”_

Something about Jim’s exchange with Cobblepot was…off. The criminal had been off. Cobblepot was always a little off, a little unhinged, but something was different tonight. He was more on edge than usual. Then there’s this whole business with the mayoral campaign. None of it is making any sense, and something has Cobblepot on edge. Nothing should be able to ruffle the man’s feathers, so to speak, because he’s supposed to be the leader of the criminal underground. Something isn’t right. 

Jim stops walking and looks up, and it takes him a moment to place the apartment building. This is where Bexley Cavanaugh lives. He remembers the address from her report, and he also remembers seeing Zsasz fast asleep at her bedside. He walks inside the building without any hesitation and takes the elevator up to the top floor. There’s only one apartment on this floor, and he knocks on the front door. He knows it’s late, or early depending on how you look at it, but he can hear footsteps. Before he can knock again, the door swings open. 

“Detective.” He remembers the soft sound of Bex’s voice when he interviewed her, but her voice sounds sleep rough now. Her hair is tousled around her head, and she’s only wearing a loose tee shirt and shorts. He clearly woke her up, but her eyes seem alert. 

“How are you, Miss Cavanaugh?” The left side of her lips tilts upwards, and Jim takes note of her stitches. Still in good shape. The bruises on her face are still dark, but some of them are starting to turn a sickly green color. It might not be pretty, but it means she’s healing. 

“I’m doing alright, but I don’t think you stopped by for a house call. Is everything okay, Detective?” She leans her shoulder against the doorway, and he didn’t realize how short she was. In the oversized shirt, she looks tiny. Fragile. He eyes the shirt, measures the length and the width of the shoulders, and realizes why he came to her apartment. 

“There was a shootout earlier this evening.” Her brows draw together, an obvious look of concern and alarm, and she straightens up a little. 

“You look whole though,” she says slowly. Her eyes quickly run over him, but he’s in one piece. Still a little shaken up, but he always feels like that after Zsasz aims a gun in his general direction. 

“Four men are dead, and I suspect that Victor Zsasz was hit as well.” Before she can say anything, he continues. “I saw him in your hospital room. You do realize what kind of man that he is?”

“Just a man,” she shrugs. A part of him respects her for not denying it, but he still doesn’t understand how someone who looks so sweet and innocent could be involved with Gotham’s top assassin. 

“Don’t suppose you’d tell me where he is?” She blinks as she looks up at him, and he can see the fingers of her uninjured hand tapping against her thigh. 

“Probably getting patched up somewhere.” Jim knows there’s doctors that operate outside of the hospital, but he’s got a gut feeling that Zsasz isn’t with any of them. He can’t prove anything though, and he has a feeling that if he pushes the issue he won’t live to see the sun rise. 

“Call me if you need anything.” He turns to walk away, but he stops when he hears Bex quietly call his name. He doesn’t turn completely around, but he turns enough to meet her eyes. 

“I know what people think of him, and they’re not completely wrong. That doesn’t mean they’re right either.” Jim doesn’t know what to make of that, especially not after the night he’s had, so he just nods and moves back to the elevator. He hears Bex’s door close before he steps onto the elevator, and he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He needs to sleep. He’ll think over everything after some shut-eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really had too much fun writing this chapter. I love writing for Max and Jade (because I get to give them fun and quirky personalities), I love writing for Jackson (because he’s Bex’s only really friend and likes messing with Victor), and I love writing the little couple moments between Bex and Victor (because psychopathic assassins can be cute too). Also, Jim will pop up periodically throughout the story because I love Jim Gordon. He might play a bigger role in the story later on. I haven’t really decided yet. Any thoughts?
> 
> One last thing, I’ve decided not to change Ivy’s age in this story. I know she magically gets older in the show, but I’m not going to do that. (Mostly because I have a different plan for Ivy, but also because it kinda squicks me out whenever I remember that technically only Ivy’s body was aged and I’m pretty sure that she still has the mind of a kid. If I’m wrong about that, please correct me.) Other things will be changed throughout the story, but that’s the only really big thing at the moment. So if that’s something that you’re going to hate, stop reading now.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap14_zpseshnljkg.jpg.html)

“Honey! I’m home!” Bex buries her laugh against Victor’s uninjured shoulder and listens to the way that he sighs. Sounds more exasperated than annoyed.

“Can I kill him?” Victor asks when she peeks up at him. 

“Kill me and you’ll lose your favorite delivery boy,” Jackson says as he deposits two pizza boxes on the coffee table. It smells delicious. Definitely better than the cereal she and Victor had for breakfast. She peels herself away from Victor’s side as Jackson collapses onto the couch on her other side, and her good fingers pop open the top box. The smell hits her right in the face, and her eyes actually roll back a little. 

“You’re a good friend,” she says in Jackson’s direction before grabbing a slice. She leans back against the couch with a sigh and raises the slice for Victor to take the first bite, and Jackson laughs quietly as he grabs his own slice of deliciousness. 

“You two are kind of disgusting. Anyone ever tell you that?” Bex has already taken her first bite, so she just smiles around her puffed out cheeks. 

“If they did, they didn’t live long enough to repeat it,” Victor says before she raises the slice for him again. Jackson makes a fake gagging sound, but Bex can see the soft smile around the edges of his lips. Her mentor is happy for her, in his own way. 

“So, this Hobbs guy that hid behind four armed thugs and cops with machine guns. Apparently he’s leaving town, just until the heat dies down, because he’s afraid for his life or some shit like that. Want him to stay gone?” Jackson manages to get out from around his own mouthful. Hobbs was Victor’s kill, not hers, so Bex turns to look at him. 

“I can take care of him,” Victor says and takes the last pepperoni. She’d pout, but she’s already reaching for another slice. 

“Not sayin’ you can’t, but I think our girl here wants you close to home for at least another day or two.” When Bex smiles innocently at him, Jackson rolls his eyes. “Insatiable little minx. The man got shot.”

“Just means we have to get a little creative,” she says while Victor just grunts next to her. His teeth nip at her fingertips as she lets him take another bite, and she can hear Jackson muttering about the downfall of assassin honor codes as her and Victor continue to watch each other. 

“You’re both incorrigible, and you deserve each other.” Jackson grabs two pizza slices, balances them on top of each other, and then turns silently on the heel of his boot. “Consider Hobbs permanently retired. I’ll call when Hawthorne gets back and send Chinese tomorrow!”

“He’s such a considerate friend,” Bex says after the front door audibly closes. Victor pulls her in closer to his side, and she slings her legs over his lap as they finish off the first pizza. Maybe she should get Jackson some kind of present. A new rifle, maybe. Or a pair of those ridiculous sunglasses he seems to favor. She’ll have to think on it. First though, she has something a little more fun to plan.

**.xXx.**

The next day, around lunchtime, Bex and Victor are pulled out of bed by a Chinese delivery guy at the front door. There’s enough food to last them both until that night, and there’s a series of notes in their fortune cookies. Victor ignores her to talk to Max on the phone as she arranges the slips of papers into something that resembles coherency, and she laughs so hard when she completes the little puzzle that Max can hear her even though Victor is on the other side of the kitchen. She’s still smoothing down the last two strips, _and possibly I like the thrill/of under me you so quite new_ , so that she can laminate them and maybe put them on the fridge when Victor comes up behind her.

“Your friend likes poetry?” The phone is put away so Victor can read over her shoulder, and her eyes scan the little slips of paper. 

“Jackson is a strange individual. He thinks he’s being funny.” Victor hums as he props his chin on her shoulder, and she turns just enough so that she can nuzzle her nose against the side of his cheek. 

“It did make you laugh,” he points out. It’s a good point, and it’s probably why Jackson did it. 

“I think we should frame it.” Teeth nip at the exposed side of her neck, right in the center of the already prominent bruise, and she pushes back against Victor with a quiet groan. “Later. We should frame it later.”

**.xXx.**

“You look…well rested,” Max says as he steps inside. Mark is sitting in a chair, perfectly still with his back straight, but his eyes widen just the smallest amount when Victor walks into the room.

“Are you concerned about my well-being?” he asks as Jade circles around Mark. To the man’s credit, he doesn’t move or flinch as Jade gets increasingly closer. 

“You got shot, boss man. By cops on steroids. Then went radio silent for a day,” Jade says as she circles a finger just in front of Mark’s eye. Still immobile. 

“I was recuperating at Bex’s. You could have called.” Jade snorts but wisely doesn’t comment, and Max leans back against the wall as she looks him over. 

“How is Miss Bex?” Jade stops teasing Mark to look over at him, and he quickly looks at both of them. 

“Bex is perfectly fine. She’s meeting with Cobblepot now.” He tried talking her out of it, but he could tell that she was growing restless. Whenever they’re not occupied with each other, she’s moving around the apartment like an animal looking for a weakness in its cage. She’s still heavily bruised, but the concussion seems better. The nausea is gone and the headaches are diminishing, but he still thinks it’s too soon for her to be out. 

“I know she looks like a walking bruise, but she’s made of tough stuff. What she did to that guy?” Jade whistles quietly while she rocks back on her heels and then grins. “That was some serious horror movie stuff, boss man. She ripped into that guy.”

“She had some aggression to work out. Now, what should we do with you today?” Mark doesn’t make any movement, except for the small hitch in his breathing, and Victor grins. Maybe he has a little aggression of his own to work through.

**.xXx.**

Bex pauses just outside of Oswald’s office and blinks up at the large form taking up the entire doorway. Butch tilts his head as he looks down at her without smiling, which is unusual. She was under the impression that Butch liked her. She raises her brow at him in question and then winces when the move pulls at her multitude of bruises, and she watches as Butch’s hard expression softens. He raises a finger at her and then turns to open the door to stick his head in, but the DJ in the nightclub is already playing music so loud that she can’t hear the exchange. It only lasts for a few moments though. Then Butch is looking down at her again.

“Boss said you can go in.” Butch holds the door open for her, and she makes sure to smile up at the big guy before slipping past him. The door closes behind her, and her eyes make a quick sweep of the room. Oswald is already getting out of his chair, and her smile feels more genuine as he walks over to her. His hand reaches for hers, and she extends her right hand. 

“It’s so good to see such a friendly face tonight,” he says and gently pulls on her. He pulls her over to a couch in the room, instead of the chair she normally sits in, but she doesn’t question it. They sit close together, angled towards each other so that their knees knock together, and she easily slots their fingers together. 

“It’s good to see you too, Oswald.” Now that she’s closer to him, she can see how tired he looks. He’s pale and drawn, and the skin under his eyes looks bruised. Something’s happened since he came to visit her at her apartment, but what?

“What brings you in tonight?” She’s dressed in jeans that cover her entirely and a gray sweater that makes her look shapeless, so she’s not really dressed to perform. 

“I wanted to know when I could come back to sing,” she answers honestly. Then, after surveying his tired eyes a second time, she adds, “And to see you, of course.”

“You are a treasure, Bex,” he says and leans back against the couch. She has a feeling that he’d fall asleep right there if he’d let himself, and something stirs in her stomach. She wants Oswald to stop looking so tired; she wants to hurt whoever is making him feel this way, because someone has to be bothering him. Maybe she should come clean about her identity? That way he really can rely on her. She’ll have to bring it up with Victor soon. 

“What can I do?” she hears herself ask. As a nightclub singer, she can’t really do much. As a friend? Maybe she can do something as a friend. Tired eyes regard her for a long moment, long enough that it would make most people uncomfortable but she just waits patiently, and then he sighs. Releases the sound with his whole body. 

“I am going to ask something completely unorthodox of you.” Her head tilts out of curiosity, studying him, and then she straightens up as she nods. Whatever he wants, she’ll do. Within reason, of course. 

His hand releases her so that he can reach up to push at her shoulders, and she scoots until her back is pressed flat against the couch cushion. The couch is so large that her feet just barely skim the floor. Before she can question him, Oswald twists and turns until he gets comfortable lying horizontal on the couch. It means that his head is resting directly in her lap, and he moves his legs around until they’re in a comfortable position. A small part of her panics, because she has no idea what to do with her hands now, but Oswald solves that for her. He grabs her right hand and presses it against the top of his head, and she feels a small smile curl her lips as she starts to gently run her fingers through his hair. Her left arm balances along the back of the couch, and she watches in slight amazement as the mob king relaxes with his head in her lap. 

“Would you like me to sing something for you?” she whispers. When he nods, she thinks back to the quiet songs her mother used to sing to her. She keeps her voice quiet and soft, and Oswald’s eyes close as she gently touches his hair. It’s soft despite the product in it, it tickles between her fingers, and she carefully presses her nails against his scalp at irregular intervals. 

Bex isn’t sure how much time passes, but she cycles through her favorite lullabies at least twice and mixes in a few other soft songs as she sits on the couch with Oswald resting in her lap. She knows that he stays awake, despite how relaxed he seems at times, but she doesn’t take offense. Falling asleep with someone is dangerous, especially for him, but he’s still showing her trust just by letting her do this for him. By letting her comfort him. That’s what this is. Comfort. She spent so many years completely avoiding human contact, unless she was killing someone, that she forgot how people seek out contact for comfort. It’s nice, to be needed this way. 

“Can you work tomorrow? It’s Halloween.” Oswald’s voice is quiet, nearly a whisper, and his eyes are still closed when she looks down. She didn’t even realize it was that time of year. 

“You betcha, boss. I won’t let you down.” She waits until he opens his eyes to grin, and she stops herself from wincing at the movement. Her face will be bruised for another week, possibly longer, but it’s an ache she can deal with. 

“Costumes are not mandatory but appreciated.” She has several costumes, clothes and wigs and makeup, but she’s not sure if she has anything for Halloween. She might have to go shopping. Maybe she can talk Victor into shopping with her again. The last time was so much fun. He goes a very particular shade of red whenever she brings up Care-Bears. 

“I think I can handle that,” she says and scrubs her nails against the crown of his head. The smile he gives her is gentle and makes him look years younger, but she can already see something brewing in his eyes. His night is probably just getting started. “You want me to stick around tonight?”

“Go home, Bex. Tell Victor that he won’t be needed for a few days.” She knows that he’s only saying that because of Victor’s shoulder, but Oswald misses her grateful smile because he’s sitting up. He somehow manages to change his hair back into its usual style before turning to face her, which is insanely impressive, and he reaches over to lightly pat her knee. “Take care of him, Bex.”

“He’s fine, really. Bullet went right through. He got lucky.” Eyes narrow, because most people probably don’t talk about gunshot wounds so easily. The hand on her knee bears down a little harder, not to hurt but just to register, and she waits for him to ask. 

“How do you know how to patch up gunshot wounds?” She raises her right arm, locks her jaw, and then uses her damaged left hand to pull her sleeve back. She doesn’t stop pulling until the fabric is bunched around her elbow, and she uses her bandaged fingers to carefully grab Oswald’s hand and press it against her scarred skin. 

“The bullet entered here.” The smaller scar is on the inside of her right forearm, where the surrounding skin is softer, and she keeps his fingers pressed against her arm as she turns it over. The scar on top of her forearm is bigger, the scar tissue a slightly darker pink and thicker, and his fingers look especially pale against the scars and black ink. “And came out here. The bone stayed intact, but the muscle took a hard hit.”

“What about these?” She’s not holding his hand anymore, so his fingers are tracing the edges of the scar tissue around her wrist. Oswald is good at noticing the little things, so she knows that he’s made note of the matching scars on her left wrist. 

“From being restrained. I know how to patch up pretty much anything at this point.” She smiles as she says it, but it feels like every scar on her body is starting to itch. She never allows anyone to touch her scars. (Except for Victor. Victor gets a pass.)

“You really are something else, Bexley.” When Oswald lets his hand slide away from her skin, she holds in her sigh of relief. She shakes her sleeve until it falls down, covering her completely again, and she smiles. 

“Of course I am. I’m Oswald Cobblepot’s nightclub singer.” That gets a real smile out of him, and she shifts a little as the scars on her back start to itch. 

“You’re a friend of the Penguin,” Oswald corrects. She dips her chin as she smiles, but she looks up as Oswald gets to his feet. “Do you want a ride home?”

“I don’t mind the walk. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” He walks her to the door, like a true gentleman, and she holds still as he drops a kiss just off the center of her forehead. She manages to slip out of the nightclub without being noticed, which is a small blessing, and she’s ambushed the moment she walks outside. Thin arms wrap tightly around her waist as she rocks back on her heels, and she laughs as she smooths her hand down Ivy’s unruly hair. 

“You were gone,” Ivy says after she steps back. Bex smiles down at the girl, who is looking up at her with a completely blank face, and slowly nods. 

“I was, but I asked my friends to make sure you ate dinner. You met Jade and Max, yeah?” she asks. Ivy spins on her heel to start walking, and Bex walks next to her. 

“Jade called me a doll. Max told me to be strong. Victor said the man who hurt you is dead.” Ivy lists the interactions off easily, without inflection, and Bex hums a little. Victor told her everything the two of them talked about, so she knows that he didn’t hold back much when talking to the girl. 

“He is,” Bex promises. 

“So Victor really didn’t hurt you.” They’re almost to the diner now, and Bex realizes that Ivy is looking up at her. Ivy rarely looks away from her destination. 

“Victor wouldn’t. Do you think Victor will hurt me?” The girl doesn’t answer her. They just walk into the diner, and Ivy orders their usual as they move over to the table that they normally sit at. Once they get comfortable, Ivy props her small hands on top of the table and looks at Bex straight in the eye. 

“I don’t think Victor will hurt you.” Bex nods, because that’s true, and she’s glad that Ivy can accept the knowledge that not all men are like her father. 

“That other thing you and Victor talked about, what do you think?” In all honesty, she’s surprised that Victor brought up bringing Ivy home. She’s not really sure what Victor thinks about Ivy, other than finding her amusing at times, but he knows that the street girl means something to her. (Bex isn’t even really sure what Ivy means to her. Maybe she sees herself in the girl?)

“Could I leave?” 

“Yes, at any time. A heads-up would be nice though, if you decided to actually live with us.” Ivy nods, just once, and then doesn’t say anything until after their food has arrived. After a few bites, Ivy taps her fingers on the tabletop on either side of her plate. 

“Why?”

“Why what?” Bex pinches off another bite for herself and chases the vegan burger with a couple of fries. 

“Why do you want me to live with you?” Instead of answering straight away, Bex waits until Ivy takes another huge bite of burger. 

“I remember what it was like to live on the streets, and I didn’t like it. I want to give you a safe place to sleep at night, clean clothes, food whenever you want it…we can even homeschool you, if that’s something you want. I never finished high school myself, but an education is important. You’d be free though, Ivy. Free to do as you want and continue to make your own decisions. I don’t want to be your mother. I just want to help.” 

She’ll never forget the gnawing feeling of hunger, the miserable wetness of sleeping under soggy blankets, or rough uneven pavement under her tired body. She dropped out of high school as a freshman, because no one cared anyway. She has her GED now, a warm bed, and a fridge full of food. She’s not usually one for sharing, but she likes Ivy. The kid’s different, in an interesting way, and Bex honestly believes that she can help the girl. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but not all kids need a traditional upbringing. 

“Do I have to decide now?” Ivy’s food is gone now, and the girl is working on Bex’s plate. 

“No. If you ever decide that you want to come stay with me, you just let me or Victor know.” Ivy nods, and Bex thinks of the date. Ivy might not be moving in anytime soon, but there’s no time like the present for her to experience something of a normal childhood. “How do you feel about trick-or-treating?”

**.xXx.**

“How did I let you talk me into this?”

“I’d tell you, in detail, but there’s a minor in the backseat.” Victor’s eyes flick upwards, to check the rearview mirror, and he can see Ivy happily munching on a candy bar. She’s surrounded by several empty wrappers, and the large purple pumpkin shaped bucket is still nearly full to the brim with even more candy. 

“She’s currently occupied with giving herself cavities,” Victor answers as he makes a turn. They’re moving back into Gotham now, and Bex has turned around in her seat so that she can watch Ivy. 

When Bex brought up trick-or-treating the night before, Victor thought she was joking. Then she was planning a shopping trip to get costumes for herself and Ivy, and Bex decided that trick-or-treating would be safer in Metropolis to keep them from getting spotted. So he spent the majority of the afternoon watching as Ivy and Bex picked last minute costumes and losing an argument about wearing his own costume. Bex and Ivy are dressed as witches, in the loosest sense of the idea. Ivy is wearing her usual clothes and a pointed witch’s hat, and Bex is wearing a black dress with a matching hat. Victor is wearing his usual style of suit, but in a dark blue instead of black and with white pinstripes, and Ivy found a fedora with a purple feather for him to wear. It’d made Bex laugh until tears leaked from her eyes when she saw it, so Victor reluctantly wore it. The feather matches the ridiculous leggings that Bex is wearing under her obscenely short dress. 

Once they reached Metropolis, they let Ivy lead the way and ring doorbells like all of the other meandering children. At the first house, Bex had leaned up on her toes and asked him to look his most menacing. So he’d made sure his shoulder holsters were clearly visible and gave the middle-aged couple his best glare. He did the same thing at every other house, until Bex had to take over carrying Ivy’s bucket for her. They walked several neighborhoods for a couple of hours, until Bex and Ivy were both satisfied with the amount of candy that Ivy had, and they’re just now getting back into Gotham. 

If Victor has timed this right, they’ll get to _Oswald’s_ just in time. He looks away from the road just for a moment, to see the corner of Bex’s smile as she watches Ivy, and then focuses on the task at hand. The child had actually laughed tonight and looked almost like any other kid. Almost, because there’s a look in her eyes that’s unlike any other child he’s ever seen. Street kid or otherwise. Bex enjoyed herself too. She’d kept her left arm looped through his right, since his left shoulder is still stiff, and pointed out the decorations with a constant smile. It was good for her to get out, and it seems like she enjoys seeing Ivy happy. 

He parks Bex’s car behind the nightclub at the same time that Butch parks Cobblepot’s car, and Bex springs out of the passenger seat with a happy cry of Cobblepot’s name. Victor meets Butch’s eyes as the man walks away, off to do whatever Cobblepot has commanded him, and he hears Cobblepot complimenting Bex on her costume. On her hat. Then Cobblepot’s eyes move over to him and then down, and Victor looks down next to his left hip. Ivy is standing next to him, hat sitting crookedly on top of her head, and holding her pumpkin bucket up with two hands. 

“And this must be your little apprentice,” Cobblepot says and smiles at the girl. Ivy shifts so that her side brushes Victor’s leg and hip, and he raises a brow. It’s like the child is seeking him out for safety. 

“This is Ivy. Ivy, this is my boss, Oswald Cobblepot.”

“Hi.” Her tone is flat, and Cobblepot looks puzzled for a moment before looking at Bex. 

“Does she live around here?” Cobblepot asks Bex. 

“I live wherever,” Ivy answers instead and shrugs. 

_“Streets,”_ Victor sees Bex mouth when Ivy looks down at her candy. Cobblepot hums a little as he looks at the orphan girl and then over at Bex, and Victor feels Ivy tense when Cobblepot suddenly laughs. 

“Bring her in with you, but keep an eye on her. She’s your responsibility.” Cobblepot points between Victor and Bex as he says it, and Bex makes a delighted squeal low in her throat as she bounces up onto her toes. Victor’s sure that she’d clap if her left hand wasn’t still hurt. 

“Whattaya think, Ivy? Want to watch me sing?” The girl tears her eyes away from her candy, glances up at Victor, and then looks over at Bex. 

“I can stick around,” she says after a beat.

**.xXx.**

“Isn’t she just the cutest?” Bex sighs.

“She’s drooling,” Victor drawls.

“Tell me again about how you made Victor Zsasz go trick-or-treating,” Cobblepot laughs. 

Jackson narrows his eyes to better see through the small crowd and resists the urge to roll his eyes. It would mess up his line of sight. Cobblepot is sitting at a table in the packed nightclub, and Zsasz is sitting in the chair next to him. Bex is sitting in Zsasz’s lap and curled up against her assassin, and the witch hat that she’s been wearing for most of the night is balanced on her knee. On the table in front of them is a young girl, around twelve or so, and she’s been asleep for the past two hours. She’s curled up on top of the table and surrounded by candy wrappers, and a smaller witch hat is crushed under a wild mane of red hair. This is the orphan that Bex usually feeds after work. 

He listens as Bex talks about trick-or-treating in a neighboring city, and Jackson can easily picture it. Bex has always been the persuasive type, when she wants to be, and he’s sure that Zsasz would do just about anything for the girl. It’s one of the reasons that Jackson likes him so much. Cobblepot laughs, probably at Zsasz’s expense, and then Bex announces that she’s thirsty. Jackson turns around before she can get up and orders another drink, and he holds completely still as Bex sidles up to his side. She’s careful not to touch him, just like he’s careful not to touch her. 

“You are five feet and nine inches of concentrated idiocy,” she hisses out of the side of her mouth. With a bright smile, she asks the bartender for another bottle of water and a drink for the boss. 

“And you are five feet and two inches of concentrated adorableness. I didn’t know you took in strays.” It doesn’t matter that she’s not looking at him or that he’s not looking at her. He can see the way her face softens from the corner of his eye. 

“News?” she asks instead. 

“Boredom,” he answers. Hawthorne is still out of town, Victor is setting up the takedown spot, so he doesn’t have much to do. This job might be an easy one, but it’s also boring at the moment. 

“Come by tomorrow, and I’ll see if I can entertain you.” It’s whispered so low that she barely makes a sound, but he hears the words anyway. He taps his fingers against the bar twice, for yes, and then listens to Bex thank the bartender as she carefully grabs the drinks. Maybe he can find someone else to shoot before Hawthorne comes back and starts yelling in his general vicinity again.

**.xXx.**

The front door closes behind them, and Bex sighs at the familiar feeling of being home. It’s nice having a home. Having somewhere to return to at the end of the day, or night. She wishes Ivy had chosen to come with them, but the girl ambled off to wherever she’s currently sleeping after they woke her up. Oswald kept calling her a little darling, and he even let Ivy hold his umbrella. She then promptly asked if he’d ever beaten someone to death with it, but Bex is pretty sure that just endeared Ivy to the mob boss even more. Still, today was a good day.

“Was that Jackson at the bar? Dressed as the grim reaper?” Victor asks as they start directly for the stairs. She knows she looks amazing in these heels, but her feet are absolutely killing her. 

“He has a strange sense of humor,” she answers as she walks inside the bedroom. She immediately drops onto the bed and starts pulling on her shoes, but she can still see Victor pulling at his own clothes. 

“I think he’s just strange.” His guns are removed now, and she’s working on pulling her leggings off. 

“He takes some adjusting to,” she agrees and then gets to her feet. She rocks up onto her toes as she spins around, and she looks over her shoulder to smile at Victor. “Help me with the dress?”

“Zipper or knife?” The knife would be quicker, but she actually likes this dress. 

“Zipper, please.” Victor finds the zipper on the side of her dress and quickly pulls it down, and she holds still as he carefully peels the dress off of her. 

She goes to reach for the clasp of her strapless bra, but Victor beats her to it. After that, he hooks his fingers around the sides of her panties and pulls them off too. She hears the sound of his knees hitting the floor as she lifts her feet, and the thought of him dropping down to his knees so easily makes her skin feel tight and hot. Hands lightly touch her hips and turn her around, and she sits heavily on the end of the bed. Victor is still kneeling on the floor between her spread thighs, and she places her hand on his cheek. Her thumb traces along his bottom lip, and her toes curl as his tongue flicks against her fingertip. 

“What’s that look for?” he asks her as she drags her nails down his jaw line. Such pretty bone structure. 

“You look good on your knees.” His lips part just enough to show a hint of teeth, and she raises her leg to press her toes against his stomach. “You’d look better without the clothes though.”

“Is that an order?” His jacket and weapons are already off, and he raises his hands to touch against the top buttons of his shirt. 

“Just a suggestion,” she says as the first button slips free. She locks her hands on the back of his neck as she kisses him, and she can feel him shifting to pull his clothes off without moving away from her lips. The kiss is messy and wet, nearly desperate, and she barely recognizes the sound she makes when Victor grabs her thighs and holds her open. 

She misses the taste of him when he pulls away, but it’s worth it for the way his tongue moves in teasing circles around her. He starts slow with light touches that make her hips rock forward, searching for more contact, and his hands press down hard against her thighs as he firms his touch. Her thighs start shaking when he sucks at her while pressing two fingers inside of her, and she bows over him so that she can hold him against her as her whole body starts to shake. She bites the inside of her cheek so hard that she tastes blood when his fingers curl deep inside of her, and he keeps licking at her as she continues to shake against him. 

“Want me to stop?” She’s lying back against the bed now, chest heaving as she stares up at the ceiling, and she tightens around the fingers still inside of her. 

“I want more.” Victor’s body slides against hers as he stretches out over her, even though his feet are still on the floor, and she arches up against him as his hand trails along her arm and then presses her hand into the mattress. His other hand is still between her legs and slowly building her back up. 

“This isn’t enough?” He’s teasing her! She never teases him like this, but she might start to pay him back for this. She pulls her legs up and presses her heels into the mattress, and she rolls her hips up against his hand. 

“No, it’s not.” She grips the back of his neck and pulls him down so that she can kiss him, and she bites his bottom lip when his hand trails along her inner thigh before moving up to grip her hip. She twists her head to the side when Victor slides inside her, and he keeps one hand tight on her hip as he stands up. Her hips are balanced on the very edge of the bed, and she wraps her thighs around Victor’s hips when he stills inside of her. 

“You look perfect like this,” he says as his other hand presses against the center of her chest. She wants to ask what he means by that, plans to make a quip about always looking good, but he pulls back and then roughly pushes inside of her again.

Her hips raise up towards him as he keeps a fast pace, and she can feel bruises forming on her thighs where he’s holding her. Her hands tear at the sheets as she meets him thrust for thrust, and the sound of the bed knocking against the wall is keeping time with her heart. She calls out Victor’s name, once, twice, and then nearly screams when he leans down over her. His hands lock around her wrists as he pushes against her harder, and she can feel every inch of him sliding against her. She mouths along his jaw and bites behind his ear as she rides out her orgasm, and she starts to shake when he keeps going. 

“I don’t think I can.” Her voice sounds like a cross between a whine and a plea as he keeps moving inside of her, and she’s so sensitive that it’s bordering on pain. 

“You can.” It’s growled against the shell of her ear as he rocks against her, and he’s staying so deep inside of her that he’s constantly grinding against her center. It’s too much and still not enough, and she feels tears slip down her cheeks as she claws at his lower back. 

She can’t tell if it’s sweat or blood that’s making her fingers slip against his skin, and her thighs are tensed around his hips as she holds him against her. Her hips are rocking desperately up into his, because she’s right on the edge, and her whole body shudders against the bed as she starts calling his name. She doesn’t know what to ask for, doesn’t know what she needs, but she trusts Victor. His fingers curl around her wrists and squeeze as he bites her right collarbone, and she screams without making a sound as her body locks up. This time her orgasm is so strong that she blacks out for a moment, and she’s not aware of anything until Victor starts to gently clean her up. Gently, because she’s still sensitive. She’s going to feel this in the morning. 

“That was…can we do it again?” She hears Victor laugh from the bathroom, and she’s still lying in the same place when he walks back out into the bedroom. 

“Maybe in the morning.” Victor dresses her in a pair of panties and one of his tee shirts before pulling on a pair of his sweatpants, and she sighs happily as he settles them into bed. 

“In the morning then. It’s a date.” If Victor replies, she isn’t awake long enough to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to map out Gotham’s timeline is insanely difficult, but I think the events that happened in the first half of Season Two were around October. So, I wrote a Halloween chapter! I think this might be the first time I’ve ever posted a holiday chapter on the holiday, so this is a big deal for me. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> The poem that Jackson sent in the fortune cookies is Sonnet VII by E.E. Cummings.


	15. It Doesn't Make Sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I should have updated this sooner, and I’m sorry about the wait. I’ll try and update a little quicker. I’ve also been trying to watch Season Four, but I’ve still only seen the first few episodes. Still, there’s been a lot of Zsasz in the new season which makes me super happy! If there’s anyone keeping up with the episodes, how it’s going? I’m totally okay with spoilers.
> 
> Okay, enough of my rambling. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap15_zpsclefkm3l.jpg.html)

**Four Years Ago**

_“Do you ever ask why?” Blood from her gloves leave tacky smears on the wine glass, and she swishes the dark liquid around her mouth. Side to side, under and over her tongue. It’s tart…dry. Feels fuzzy on her tongue._

 _“Asking why is just a way for me to get my head fucked with, and it’s none of my business what the assholes in this room did to deserve us killing them. Do you ever ask why?” Jackson is sitting cross-legged, dead center, on top of a table that’s had all of its contents pulled to the floor. The man who pulled on the tablecloth is still clutching it in his dead fist. (Jackson is sitting similarly to the way that Ivy will sit on top of a table at_ Oswald’s, _years from now.)_

_“You think he was an asshole? ‘Cause I think we just killed Santa Claus.” She points her now empty wine glass at a man slumped against an upturned table across the room, and she watches the way that the thin gray shirt stretches across Jackson’s shoulder blades when he turns to look. There’s a quiet whistle, maybe because the Santa look-a-like was accidentally disemboweled with a lamp, and Bex reaches for another half-full glass. This wine is lighter. Sweeter._

_“I think we just killed an entire board of directors, plus their security, even after the fucker that hired us said it couldn’t be done with just two guys. Well, fuck him for being right on that one. It just took one guy and one badass little lady!” Jackson raises an imaginary glass towards her, so she raises her own before letting the rest of the liquid slide down her throat. When she places the glass back on the table, she catches sight of the sun just starting to crest over the buildings around them._

_“Have you ever lived in a penthouse, Jackson? In a place like this?” The people they were sent to kill, the whole board, was having dinner at one of the member’s homes. It’s a penthouse apartment, towering over all the buildings around it, and Jackson is facing a wall of glass. The rising sun is lighting up the carnage in the room, and Jackson slips a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and onto his face._

_“Me and my mom lived in a single wide trailer, Bex. Packed in next to a couple dozen other trailers, all crammed together without anything even close to resembling privacy.” Jackson turns to face her then, wide smile dimpling his left cheek, but his eyes are hidden behind the dark frames. “When I took Momma to the house she died in, she cried. Said it was the nicest and biggest house she ever lived in. Fucking thing had two bedrooms and two bathrooms, but the dining room and kitchen were separate too. You could’ve fit three houses like that one in this one. You think any of them ever realized that? Ever realized how good they had it until they pissed off the wrong man and got us turned loose on them?”_

_“My mama was a maid for a rich man, and she used to take me with her. She’d spend all day in this huge house, so many rooms that I was constantly getting lost and a yard so big that I’d run out of breath before running all the way around, and then she’d come home to our one room apartment. Our kitchen was in our living room, our bed was where the couch should have been, and the bathroom door was missing. I don’t think anyone in this room knew what that was like. If they had known, they wouldn’t have been pushing to create smaller and more economical living spaces. Economical. Pretty fancy word for a cell.”_

_“You sly devil!” The sound of Jackson’s bare palm slapping his denim covered thigh echoes in the room, and Bex looks away from the thick black fabric of her pants. Nearly every inch of her is covered. Only her face is visible. “You asked why! Is it easier to kill them when you know they deserve it? Wait, is that the kind of question a sociopath would ask? Gotta keep up to date on my mental status.”_

_“You’re sitting in a room filled with dead bodies,” she points out with a laugh. The tendons in his neck stand out as he looks around the room, but he’s facing the glass wall when he shrugs._

_“You make a good point, but you’re avoiding the question. Come on, Bexley, you can tell Ol’ Jacky if knowing their transgressions makes pulling the trigger easier. Or snapping their necks. To-may-to. To-mah-to.” Bex looks around the room, at how the people are lying like puppets with their strings cut, and then lets her head fall back. The ceiling is surprisingly blood-free._

_“No. It still feels the same.” Her most satisfying kill was Nathan Hawthorne. Watching him die was the highlight of her life; when she wakes from nightmares, she remembers the feeling of his fading pulse under her hand and the desperate look in his eyes. Replaying the moment when his life finally ended is like her security blanket. It should be memories of her mother, of being young and innocent before it was all ruined, but that’s not what brings her comfort. Death brings her comfort._

_“I kn-kn-know a girl, she gets what she wants all the time! Cause she’s fine!”_

_The sound of Jackson’s loud singing forcibly pulls her out of her own thoughts, and Bex’s mouth drops open just a little as Jackson shimmies over towards her. She never even heard him slip off the table. Her dropped jaw turns into a smile as she jumps up onto her boots, ignoring the sound of her chair clattering to the ground, and she spins around Jackson as she sings the next few lines._

_“But for an angel, she’s a hot-hot mess! Make you so blind! But you don’t mind!”_

_Jackson copies her movements as she twirls around the room, easily stepping over fallen bodies, and she picks up an empty wine bottle to sing into. Since Jackson isn’t the type to be outdone, he picks up a bloody candlestick holder to sing into as they continue to dance around each other._

_“Cause she’s an uptown, get-around, anything-goes girl!” They sing together, yelling out in perfect harmony, as they dance around congealing blood and creeping sunlight. “She’s a hardcore, candy-store, give-me-some-more girl!”_

**.xXx.**

Victor watches as Bex bolts upright, and he takes in the wild snarls of her hair and the white around her eyes. The fingers of her right hand curl tightly around the sheets bunched around her hips, and the fingers of her left hand make a loose fist on top of the blanket. Her breathing is a little out of rhythm, but she’s not breathing heavily or even audibly. The right side of her face, a mixture of pale greens and yellows, looks flushed under the light bruising. He stays sitting on the side of the bed, just watching her, until recognition bleeds into her features. She rubs the heels of her hands against her eyes as she sighs, and he knows the moment that she realizes his presence because she stills. Her hands slip back down to the bed, and she’s lightly biting on the corner of her lip when she turns to look at him.

“You were humming in your sleep,” he informs her. She scrubs a hand through her hair, which only tangles it more, and blows out a small huff of air. 

“Weird dream,” she shrugs. Her neck pops as she begins to stretch, and Victor watches the play of her muscles under her multicolored skin as she slowly wakes up. “Time is it?”

“Around two.” A quiet hum escapes her as she kicks the sheets off of her, and he holds still as she crawls over to him. Since he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, she has to hold onto his shoulders as she slings a leg over his thighs. Once she’s sitting in his lap, she smiles and ducks forward to kiss his chin. She doesn’t like kissing him properly until she’s brushed her teeth. 

“You didn’t have to let me sleep so late.” Her cheek slides across his neck and the top of his chest, and her nails lightly run over his left ribcage. It’s cool in the apartment, but her body heat is starting to warm him up. 

“We got home late. Cobblepot didn’t let you go until almost sunrise.” 

Normally after Bex finishes singing, she sits with him and Cobblepot at a table. They talk for a little while, and then Victor and Bex go home. Halloween night was a little different, they stayed for far longer than usual, but the night after was business as usual. Things were different last night. After leaving the stage, Cobblepot asked for Bex to join him in her office. Victor took Ivy to the diner to eat after the end of the first hour, and Bex was still in the office when he came back. The sun was already up when they got home, and Bex fell asleep while trying to pull her pants off. So Victor had finished undressing her and then went to sleep himself. Now he wants answers. 

“There’s something not right with him. He seems on edge. I was in there for three hours, and he barely said a word. Just wanted me to play with his hair and sing to him.” That explains the rough sound of her voice, if she kept singing.

“Should I be worried?” The question is teasing, because he trusts Bex, but he is worried about Cobblepot. The man does seem to be acting a little strange, even by Gotham’s standards. 

“Oswald is a true gentleman, but I’m all yours.” The last part is whispered into his ear, followed by a small nip to his earlobe, as Bex presses herself against him. 

“Does that mean Jackson won’t be parading around today?” The more time he spends around Jackson, the more he’s convinced that the other assassin is actually insane. He talks constantly, like the filter between his brain and mouth has been completely removed, and he makes Bex laugh. That’s the only reason Victor has tolerated his presence for the past two days. 

“I think he said something about a side job? He gets a little restless when he has too much time on his hands.” Hands trail up his back, along either side of his spine, and her left hand has more rough spots now that a thick line cuts across four of her fingers in addition to the burn along her palm. Her right hand feels oddly smooth in comparison. “What about the girls?”

“Working on their own projects today.” She’s careful of his left shoulder, even though it feels almost normal now, and her nose trails across his cheek as she sits back to look at him. 

“So I guess it’s just you and me until work tonight.” Her head tilts to the side, and she doesn’t wince at all when her smile pulls at her fading bruises. “I wonder what we can do to pass the time.”

Her cry turns into a laugh as he flips them over, with her splayed on her back under him, and her eyes look bright up close. Nails dent his back, not hard enough to leave a mark, and he presses his lips against the top of the scar on her sternum. When she pushes up against him, he parts his lips and drags his teeth along her skin. He knows exactly how he’s going to pass the time today, and getting Bex to make more of those throaty growls is first on his list.

**.xXx.**

At the end of her shift, Bex looks around the nightclub and then goes straight outside. Oswald wasn’t at his usual table or in his office, so there’s no reason for her to stick around. Victor should have been inside, but he wasn’t. So she goes outside to greet Ivy, but the girl isn’t alone. Victor is squatting down next to her, being careful not to touch the bricks of the nightclub or the dirty pavement, and Ivy is making motions with her hands. Explaining something, and Victor is watching with complete attention. When Ivy finishes talking, she stands up and looks over at Bex. Victor stands up behind her, and Bex quirks an eyebrow at him.

“She was explaining how to keep your patio plants alive,” Victor answers. Ah, yes, the patio plants. They’re already wilting, because she’s never been any good at keeping things alive. 

“You know how to garden?” Bex asks the girl. As they walk to the diner, Ivy tells Bex about the plants she used to have at her parent’s house. The common name for them, the scientific names, and how to properly care for them. She talks in between bites, and it’s the most that Bex has ever heard from the girl. Bex is almost sad to see her go after dinner; Ivy’s tone had actual emotion when she was talking about her plants. 

“One of the count houses was raided by the GCPD today. Cobblepot lost nearly two million. Word amongst the lower ranks is that the Penguin is losing it. Becoming paranoid and out of control. It’s not good for business,” Victor says quietly as they walk towards home. Well, that would explain Oswald’s absence tonight. It’s not even losing the money that’s the real problem. It’s the loss of morale; the criminal underground needs to believe that Oswald is being a true leader, so this is really not good. 

“Anything you can do to dissuade them?” she asks as she tucks herself closer to Victor’s side. They look like any other couple, cozied up as they walk, and she likes the imagery. 

“I have the girls working on it.” Sirens echo throughout the city, muted shouting is coming from dark alleyways, and the criminals of Gotham are feeling unsettled. 

“I have a feeling that things are about to get very interesting.” Victor just hums quietly, but she knows that he’s agreeing with her. Something big is going to happen. She can feel it.

**.xXx.**

“Holy fucking shit! You will never guess what the fuck just happened!” Bex had visibly jumped when Jackson appeared over the back of the couch, because she never heard him enter the apartment, and she realizes that she’s holding Victor’s wrist to keep him from shooting her mentor.

“Don’t do that!” Bex yells and reaches over to punch his shoulder. Jackson yelps and rubs the spot while looking at her with wide hurt-filled eyes, but Bex just keeps up her glare as Victor puts his gun away. “You can’t just jump over an assassin’s couch without warning! Victor could have shot you!”

“What?! Victor loves me! Don’t ya, honey?” Jackson flutters his lashes, but Bex can’t see what kind of face Victor makes because she’s reclined back against him. Whatever expression it is, it makes Jackson throw his head back in a laugh. Only for a moment though. Then he’s looking at her again with wide eyes. Now that she’s actually paying attention, she can tell just how ruffled he looks. His black hair is a little wild, like he’s been running, and his cheeks are flushed. 

“So, what happened? And less profanity, please.” Jackson very obviously rolls his eyes, which means he’s probably going to use even more profanity just to spite her, and then starts speaking while waving his arms about. 

“I was at The Merc to load up, getting low on supplies, when the fucking cops showed! Everyone’s been raving about how this place has everything you need to get a job done all without any kind of interference from the lawmen, but those assholes were everywhere! They blew some poor bastard up! I ran the hell out of there before they could spot me, because I’m a fucking professional, but it was a madhouse! You shoulda seen it, Bex! It was like Spain.”

“There were bulls?” she asks with a small smile.

“No one messes with The Merc,” Victor says. She twists around to look at him, but he’s looking at Jackson. She can’t read the look on his face, but his eyes are dark. 

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Vic. I’m a liar, comes with the job description, but I don’t lie to friends. The Merc was raided and has now been shut down. Fuck! There’s no telling how many arrests got made today,” Jackson says and slumps against the back of the couch. 

“Uniformed cops?” Victor asks. Something about this is really bothering him, but what? Bex knows about The Merc, everyone does, and it’s a loss. A big one, but she doesn’t doubt that a new facility just like it will spring up within a few weeks. Gotham has a way of making sure its needs are met. 

“Full tac gear. Reminded me of your old getup, Bex. Called themselves a Strike Force.” Jackson lifts his head up from the back of the couch and turns his eyes on Victor. “Oh, shit, those were the cops that shot you! What are they feeding those idiots? Shooting famous assassins and shutting down favored businesses. Idiots, the whole lot of them. You wanna go shoot the place up? The police station, not The Merc. Because it was shut down.”

“I’ve already shot up the police station,” Victor says as he leans back against the couch. Bex moves with him and then smiles when Jackson raises his fists to under his chin. She’s never seen an expression that could adequately be called “heart eyes,” but Jackson is pulling it off. 

“Can I have your autograph?” Bex laughs outright at that, and she can hear Victor’s quiet growl behind her. 

“If he asks me that again, I’m throwing him off the roof.” Bex twists so that her back stays pressed against Victor’s side and lays her legs across Jackson’s lap, effectively pinning him to the couch. (Jackson could easily get up if he wanted to, but he still gets this little shocked look on his face whenever she touches him.)

“I like Jackson.” Victor grunts at that but doesn’t argue, so she thinks that Jackson is growing on him. Possibly.

**.xXx.**

“Hey, boss man! I think you should see this!” Jade calls out. Victor looks away from the stove, where he’s trying to cook a meal to satisfy five people, and towards the living room. He’s still trying to decide if he should step away to see what Jade wants when Jackson hip checks him away from the stove.

“It’s salmon and brussels. I got this, big guy. Go see what your girls have gotten up to,” Jackson says before turning back to Max to carry on their conversation. It sounds like they’re discussing the quickest ways to break into various security systems. Even if Jackson isn’t competent, Max is so Victor leaves the kitchen. Jade and Bex are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, sideways with their feet on the center of the couch, and they’re painting each other’s toenails. 

“Did you want a second opinion?” he asks when Jade looks over the back of the couch and up at him. Bex is painting Jade’s toenails a vibrant purple color, and Jade is carefully applying a bright red color to Bex’s toenails. 

“We know we look good, boss man. Check the news.” Victor grips the back of the couch as he looks at the mounted TV, and Bex turns up the volume as the reporter keeps talking. Arson usually isn’t such a big deal, but five large targets in one night is definitely newsworthy. Victor mentally maps the buildings, but he can’t see a clear reason to target those specific buildings. He’ll have to look into it. 

“Do you think this is why Oswald gave me the next couple of nights off?” Bex asks him. Cobblepot called earlier and told Bex to take off for a few nights, that he would call her and tell her when to come back to work, and Bex has been on edge all day. It’s why Victor insisted on them having an actual dinner with their…friends. Bex calls Jackson, Max, and Jade her friends. Victor has different names for them depending on his mood. 

“Would the big boss do a job this big without telling you?” Jade asks him. His grip tightens on the couch as he watches the fire on the screen, and he feels Bex’s fingers on his wrist. 

“Arson isn’t my specialty, and he doesn’t tell me everything,” Victor answers after a moment. He’s proficient at arson, but it’s not what he’s hired for. Then again, there might be some truth to the rumors of Cobblepot’s growing paranoia. “Finish up. Dinner will be ready soon.”

“We already did our nails,” Bex says and holds her hands up. Jade does the same thing, and he realizes that they switched colors for their fingernails. Purple for Bex and red for Jade. He doesn’t say anything to that, just turns on his heel to walk back into the kitchen, and he can hear the two women giggling over the sound of the reporter on the TV. 

“I know blowing shit up isn’t the quietest way to do something, but sometimes it’s the quickest. Not all jobs require finesse,” Jackson is saying as Victor reenters the kitchen. 

“Finesse is necessary if you take pride in your work,” Max counters. When she sees Victor, she grabs Jackson’s collar and pulls him away from the stove. She doesn’t let him go until they’re sitting on stools at the bar, but the pulling didn’t stop Jackson from replying.

“I take pride in my work! I’m a fucking professional and a master at my craft! My craft just so happens to call for blowing shit up from time to time. You telling me you’ve never blown up a building, Max? Never felt the ground shake beneath your feet or the heat spreading through the air as a twenty-story building lit up the sky? That’s fucking art, Max! Poetry in motion!”

“Explosions are poetry?” Max asks. Victor looks over at the large silver fridge, which is bare except for the laminated strips of paper glued to it. The poem that Jackson sent them hidden in fortune cookies. 

“Hell yeah they are! Answer the question, Max. Come on, sugar, tell the truth. You ever blow up a building?” Jackson has a problem with pet names. Victor needs to remember to talk to Bex about it; maybe she can convince the man to stop, or maybe she’ll let him shoot Jackson somewhere non-fatal. 

“No. I’ve never had a reason to blow up a building,” Max answers. He’s never had a reason to get the girls to blow up anything. Are they missing something vital in their training?

“That’s a damn tragedy.” Victor can see Jackson shake his head from the corner of his eye, and then Jackson is cupping a hand around the side of his mouth. “Yo! Dollface! You ever blow up a building?!”

“No!” Jade immediately calls back. Jackson makes a sound like a wounded animal, and Max snorts out a quiet laugh. 

“Victor, honey, light of my life…permission to take your girls on a field trip? I promise to bring them back completely undamaged.” Since the food is out of the oven and cooling on top of the stove now, Victor turns around fully to face Jackson and Max. Jade is standing next to Max, with her chin propped on the other woman’s shoulder, and Bex is leaning on the bar next to Jackson. 

“They’re free to do whatever they want.” Max smiles while Jade cheers, and Jackson claps before rubbing his hands together. 

“Then we’re gonna blow us up something big! And then, ice cream,” Jackson declares. Bex laughs as she ruffles the man’s hair, but she dances out of the way before he can retaliate. She comes over to Victor’s side and wraps her arms tight around his middle, and her cheek nuzzles against his collarbone. 

“What’s that little dish?” Bex asks quietly. The others are talking excitedly in the background about their field trip, but he still likes that Bex talks so that only he can hear her. He glances over at the counter space next to the stove and at the covered plate there. 

“Veggie tarts. Like a vegetarian pizza. We can take it to Ivy after the stooges leave.” Jackson makes the unmistakable Curly laugh, an echoing _nyuk-nyuk-nyuk_ , and Bex’s eye roll looks almost fond. Then she’s smiling up at him and rising up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Victor Zsasz, I think you’re a great big marshmallow. You know, under all of the murdering and torturing,” Bex says and grins so wide that it stretches her cheeks. 

“There’s marshmallows?!” Jackson shouts behind them. 

“I’m gonna gag him.” Victor’s voice sounds like a growl even to him, and Bex tries to smother her laugh against his chest. 

“Ooh, kinky. I’d approve, honey, but I don’t think Bex likes to share.” When Bex looks over at Jackson with a raised brow and a smirk, Jackson winks at her. “Called it, you crazy possessive assassins. Now can we eat? We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

“He taught me how to shoot a gun. I can’t kill him,” Bex says when Victor just looks down at her. He can hear their three guests laughing, and it makes Bex smile. That’s good enough for him. For now.

**.xXx.**

As promised, Jackson takes Max and Jade out for ice cream after they blow up a couple of buildings. They made sure the buildings were outside of Gotham, because of how uptight the cops have been lately, but they’re enjoying their midnight treats in the heart of Gotham. Jackson likes Victor’s girls. They’re both highly intelligent and skilled, disciplined and creative, and Jackson’s impressed. Victor’s done an amazing job of training them, and he’s never met anyone more loyal. They trust Victor wholeheartedly. They also really like blowing things up.

“The colors were so pretty,” Jade sighs as she licks at her chocolate ice cream cone. 

“Like noon in the middle of the night,” Max agrees as she catches some sprinkles with her tongue. 

“Told ya it was like poetry in motion.” Jackson shoves the last of his cone into his mouth as soon as he finishes speaking, and he can see the two women smiling at him. 

“You’re alright, Jackson,” Max says and nods once at him. 

“Yeah, you fit right in,” Jade adds and slaps the center of his back. Hard enough to make him stumble forward, so he pushes on her shoulder and then smiles when she moves with the shove and spins on the toe of her boot. 

“Now, it’s time for us to get to work. Thank you for tonight.” Max smiles properly at him, wide enough to show both rows of her perfectly straight white teeth, and Jade skips back over towards him. 

“See ya around!” Jade whispers before the two women break off from him. He blinks and they’re gone, which is an impressive skill, and Jackson hums as he continues on his way. Hawthorne will be back in a couple of days, and he needs to be ready.

**.xXx.**

“Your phone is doing that thing where it makes noise,” Bex grumbles against his chest. He can feel the whole length of her pressed up against his side since he’s on his back, and he has one hand tangled in her hair.

“I told Max to call if anything happened,” he says as he reaches towards the table next to the bed. He’d told Max and Jade to tail Cobblepot as discreetly as possible after dinner last night, but he didn’t hear anything from them all day. It’s well past midnight now, and there was another arson report on the news. He watched it with Bex before they came up to bed, and this time a cop was killed by fire instead of another building being destroyed. The city is going to be uneasy while the cops work through their revenge. He answers the phone and puts it on speaker before balancing it on his chest, next to where Bex’s head is lying, so they can both hear Max. 

“I think Cobblepot has lost it, sir,” Max says in greeting. 

“Explain.” Bex shifts so that she’s propped up on her elbow, and they’re both looking at the phone. 

“He cut off Butch’s hand, and then let him leave. Butch’s conditioning is still intact, as far as we can tell, so it doesn’t make any sense. Do you want us to stick with Cobblepot or follow Butch?” He doesn’t like splitting them up, they work better as a unit when they can look out for each other, but this situation is different from anything else he’s dealt with. 

“You stay with Cobblepot. Send Jade after Butch. Is Mark still in the hole?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then he’ll be fine for a few more days. Report in regularly, both of you. Understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” The call ends, and Victor sighs as he tosses his phone back onto the table. Bex shifts against him again, sliding downwards until she can prop her cheek on the bottom of his chest and meet his eyes, and he runs his fingers over the closed cut on her forehead. All of her stitches have been removed, but the skin still feels rough to the touch. 

“This isn’t good.” He hates stating the obvious, saying what is already known is a waste of breath, but he can’t make sense of the situation. 

“I’m sure Oswald has a reason for everything.” He did good work on Butch; there’s no way that his conditioning could break on its own, so Cobblepot had no reason to cut off his hand. Something that drastic is usually reserved as a punishment, but Butch can’t disobey Cobblepot. It doesn’t make sense. 

“Why hasn’t he called me?” Victor always takes care of the wet work. It’s what he does. Cobblepot calls on him when things start getting out of control, and Victor knows that some of the lesser criminals are starting to talk louder about the quality of Cobblepot’s leadership. It’s not good, and that’s an understatement. 

“I don’t know. Do you want me to reach out to him?” He thinks it over, for just a moment, and then shakes his head. If Cobblepot is unstable at the moment, he doesn’t want Bex around him. He knows Bex can take care of herself, but Bex wants to help Cobblepot. She can’t help him if the man turns on her while in some kind of paranoid delusion, because Bex would probably wind up killing him. That would probably upset her since she seems to like Cobblepot, so it’s best to avoid the situation entirely. 

“Not yet. Let the girls watch for a while and see what’s happening. Then we’ll decide.”

**.xXx.**

“Ooh, more fire. If this trend continues, the whole city will be burned down in a week,” Bex mumbles around her midnight snack. Victor thinks about answering, reminding her that the GCPD is out for revenge because the firebug killed one of their own, but he doesn’t get the chance because his phone rings. Bex mutes the news as he answers, and they both listen to Max’s report.

“Cobblepot hasn’t left or met with anyone. He’s turning down meetings, and it’s making everyone uneasy. Jade followed Butch to a hospital and then to Galavan’s. He’s still in there,” Max says quickly.

**.xXx.**

“Butch just returned to Cobblepot. Jade says he has a mallet on his hand.” Bex can hear the confusion in Max’s voice, which is understandable. A mallet? She puts the finishing touches on her sandwich as Victor tells Max to keep up the good work, and she raises a brow after he hangs up the phone.

“A mallet?” she asks. 

“It could have its uses,” Victor answers. She shrugs, because she can see the merits of having a mallet attached to her arm, but she’s still glad it’s not her. What is Oswald up to?

“Lunch?” They can puzzle this out later, after they have a few more pieces.

**.xXx.**

“Bad news, sir,” Max greets when Victor answers the phone. Bex feels something heavy sink in her gut, and she mutes the news as Victor grinds his teeth. It’s late, nearly two in the morning, and there’s a rerun playing of the death of the firebug. A girl, Bridgit Pike, was killed earlier tonight. Set on fire by her own equipment. It’s a damn shame, but at least nothing else will be burned down. Well, not by “Firefly” as the news took to calling her.

“What happened?” Victor grits out. 

“He didn’t ask for me or Jade, or you, but he took two low-level lackeys. He didn’t say what the job was. I didn’t know the plan. Jade didn’t know the plan.” Max is the cool collected type, she’s always in control, but there’s a waiver of _something_ in her tone. She sounds off-kilter. 

“What happened?” Victor repeats. There’s not a trace of any kind of emotion in his tone, but Bex can see how tense he is. So tense that it looks painful. She’s a little worried that he might break the phone in his hand before Max can explain what happened. 

“Jade got the truth out of one of Galavan’s men. Galavan kidnapped Cobblepot’s mother a couple of weeks ago, that’s why Cobblepot has been off his game. Killing Caulfield and Hobbs, that was for Galavan. Galavan also orchestrated the Arkham breakout. Cobblepot cut off Butch’s hand to give Butch a reason to go to Galavan to pretend to be a traitor, but Galavan’s sister broke his conditioning. Butch led Cobblepot to where his mother was, and…I’m sorry, sir. By the time we got there, Cobblepot’s mother was dead and Butch was gone. So were Galavan and his sister.”

“This isn’t on you or Jade. Cobblepot should have had me track his mother down.” It sounds like Oswald forgot that Victor is more than just a hired gun, but Bex can forgive him for that. She’s heard about how much Oswald loves his mother, and that’s something she can understand. Love makes people crazy. 

“Thank you, sir,” Max says quietly. 

“Where is Cobblepot now?” Poor Oswald. He’s either grieving or raging, but she’s willing to bet that it’s some combined form of the two. He must be devastated, and he’ll want Galavan’s head for killing his mother. Also, it feels good to know that her gut feeling about Galavan was correct. She knew there was something not-right about that guy. 

“Hiding out. He’s being smart about it,” Max answers quickly. 

“I’ll be out to do damage control. Keep your eyes open,” Victor says and then ends the call. Bex runs her fingers down the tense line of Victor’s jaw and then smiles when he nips at her fingertips. 

“Damage control?” She can already tell that she’s going to be sleeping in her king sized bed alone tonight, but she knows it’s necessary. Victor has a job to do. 

“The criminal underlings need to be reminded that they don’t have freedom of speech,” Victor says as he gets to his feet. Bex looks him up and down, at the way his sweatpants hang low on his hips, and the small bruises on his bare stomach and chest from her teeth. She can’t keep him glued to her twenty-four seven, but she’s still going to miss him while he stalks the streets and puts the fear of Penguin into Gotham’s criminals. 

“Try not to have too much fun,” she sighs. She follows the sigh with a grin, and she pushes down a moan as Victor tightly holds her hair and presses a hard kiss against her lips. They can have fun after this mess gets cleaned up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter might seem filler-ish, but it shows what Victor was doing during the whole Firefly thing and while Oswald was dealing with the Galavan situation. Speaking of Oswald, there’s going to be more of him in the next chapter! So that’s something to look forward to. I really enjoyed writing this chapter though, because I love the side characters almost as much as I love Bex and Victor. Jackson is always entertaining to write, and I love the Zsaszettes. I wish they had more screen time. 
> 
> I’d love to know thoughts on this one! Because while nothing big did happen, it’s hinting at bigger things to come. Like Oswald taking on Galavan. I can’t be the only one who who’s curious about what Victor was up to during that time, because he wasn’t in those episodes. Sadly. 
> 
> The song that Bex and Jackson sing at the beginning of the chapter is _She’s So Mean_ by Matchbox Twenty.


	16. Several Steps Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait a little longer before updating, but I just finished another chapter for this story so I decided to go ahead and post! I won’t ramble too much here, I’ll just let you get right to the chapter. Because it’s one of my favorites, and I hope you enjoy it too!
> 
> For anyone that’s curious, this chapter takes place during **Season 2 Episode 7**.

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap16_zpsa11wr96j.png.html)

“I hate it when my honey isn’t home,” Jackson says wistfully as he sits next to her on the couch. They’re sitting with just a few inches of space between them, feet kicked up on the coffee table, and their heads leaned back against the cushions so they can look at each other. She’s just finished explaining the full extent of Cobblepot’s, and therefore Gotham’s, current situation. She expected a comment, but not necessarily one about Victor’s absence. Then again, she should have expected that.

“One of these days, Victor’s going to snap and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself,” she says and pokes the center of his forehead. Jackson’s pretty eyes cross as he watches her finger, but he never stops smiling. 

“Oh, please, Victor’s too cool to snap. Can you imagine it if he did though? Picture it, sweetheart. Victor losing his cool and going on a murderous rampage.” They sigh in tandem, with the same lustful tone, and Bex quirks a brow when Jackson pouts. “Think we can clone Victor? I feel like I’ve earned my own little murderer.”

“There’s nothing little about Victor.” She’d been thinking about his height, because he towers over her and Jackson has to tip his head back to meet Victor’s eyes as well, but Jackson wiggles his eyebrows at her phrasing. Bex laughs even as she blushes, and she reaches over to slightly push Jackson’s shoulder. He grabs her wrist before she can pull away, and she holds still as he traces his fingers down the length of her left forearm. Over the raised lines from blocking her face and chest from a knife attack, and he taps the dark ink of birds and flowers in between the scars. 

“Is this why you stayed all covered up?” His searching fingers move up to the burn on her left bicep, but his touch doesn’t make her itch. She trusts Jackson. 

“The scars and tattoos are good identifiers, and I have them everywhere.” Jackson’s fingers hover over the scar peeking out over the top of her shirt, because it’s one of Victor’s tee shirts and hangs low enough to show the top of her chest, and she can feel the heat from Jackson’s hand. 

“What happened to you, Bexley? You never told me your story.” She thinks it over for a moment, weighs the pros and cons, and then grabs Jackson’s arm. She holds it up so that she can slide under it and curl herself up against Jackson’s side, and she sighs when Jackson wraps his arm securely around her back. He’s smaller than Victor, leaner, but she can still feel the strength in his wiry frame. She’s seen Jackson take down guys three times his size, and she knows that he would never hurt her. 

So she tells him her story, from the beginning. About her father’s death, her mother working for Carmine Falcone, and how her mother died. How all of Mister Carmine’s staff died in one day. She talks about living in foster homes and group homes, but how she really spent most nights sleeping on the dirty streets of Gotham. Tells him about how her anger grew with each passing year, until Mister Carmine found her when she was sixteen. He supported her, gave her just enough money to stay fed, and made sure no one interfered with what she had to do. Talking about her killing spree is easier because it really is like telling a story. She goes in order, from the first low-level acquaintance and all the way up to Nathan Hawthorne himself. She even shows each scar that goes with a story, tells him how she got them and how she patched herself up because she couldn’t trust anyone else in the city. 

“Mister Carmine offered to take me in when I was finished. He wanted me to live with him, so that he could take care of me. I had to get out of Gotham though, after everything I did, and he respected that. He paid for my plane ticket and gave me enough money to last a while, and I went straight to Germany. It was the earliest flight, and it’s not like I had a particular destination in mind.”

She pauses to lick her dry lips as she pushes back those memories. She doesn’t want to remember Mister Carmine’s sad blue eyes when she told him that she had to leave. She hadn’t even been able to cross over onto his property to speak to him. The memories had hurt too much. Everything about Gotham hurt then. Her skin had still felt dirty and scraped raw when she got on the plane, her hair had been styled in a mohawk after parts of her hair were ripped from her scalp, and she’d been so on edge in an unfamiliar place. She needs Jackson to hear the rest of the story though.

“I killed those people in Germany because they touched me without permission, and I didn’t know they were well connected. That’s why they sent you after me. The people in that bar? They kept girls against their will in the back rooms. Made them do things they didn’t want to do. So I set them free and made sure those people would never hurt anyone else ever again. I’d only been in Germany for about three weeks. Seventeen and all alone, but you saved me. You took me in and taught me how to be a real assassin. I never thanked you for that, did I?” 

“No thanks needed, sweetheart,” Jackson says quietly and briefly squeezes her against him. 

“You gave me a purpose in life, and I’m thanking you for it. Thank you, Jackson.” Seventeen, alone, and angry. She’s not sure what she would have done, or become, if Jackson hadn’t been the one sent after her. 

“You’re welcome, Bex. Just do me one little favor, and we’ll call it even. Deal?”

“Depends on the favor.” She leans her head back against his shoulder so that she can meet his eyes, and she’s always loved the light color. Her own eyes are plain brown, medium, between light and dark. Jackson’s brown eyes are light and a little yellow, dark gold like honey, and so very pretty. 

“Never cover yourself up like that again. Let the whole world see what you survived, because everyone needs to know how much of a badass you are.” It’s such a Jackson thing to say that it startles a laugh out of her, and Jackson laughs along with her. Personally, she thinks the scars show just how naïve and stupid she was. She thought a kid could take on trained killers and criminals, and her body paid the price. The scars are a good reminder though, of where she started. They show just how much she’s improved since then. 

“I think I can handle that. Full tac gear is so heavy,” she groans. She’s wearing shorts and one of Victor’s tee shirts now, with her hair held up on top of her head, so a lot of her skin is on display. It’s freeing. 

“Ooh, looks like the new mayor is badmouthing your new friend,” Jackson singsongs. Oswald’s name is scrolling along the bottom of the newsfeed, so Bex grabs the remote and turns the volume up. Her face heats up as she listens to Galavan speak, especially the mother comment that must be aimed at Oswald. “Hot damn! That’s just fucking cold. I don’t like this guy. Kill people? Sure, I’m not gonna judge that. Manipulation and conniving? To each his own. But torturing a man using his own mother? That just ain’t right. Want me to kill him? I’ve never killed a mayor.”

“You’re a peach, Jackson,” she says and lightly pats his cheek. 

“I’m a goddamned delight. So, are we lighting that bitch up or what?” She should reprimand him for his profanity, but that’s an argument she’s never going to win. 

“No, I think Oswald should be the one to kill him. It’s only fair,” she decides. The only thing that helps her sleep at night is remembering that she killed the man who had her mother killed. Oswald deserves to have that same kind of peace. 

“I hate when you’re so sensible. We’re assassins, for crying out loud! Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, assassinate?” 

“Maybe we can go hunting after things die down with Oswald and Hawthorne. I want those squared away before we have any fun.”

“There you go, being all sensible again. Next you’ll be telling me that I can’t ogle Victor when he walks around in nothing but those thin sweatpants. Seriously, sweetheart, that man just looks like sin.”

“Look all you want, just don’t touch.”

“Fun sucker.” Jackson sticks his tongue out at her, so she sticks her tongue out at him and then crosses her eyes. They’re still making faces at each other, increasingly more ridiculous, when a knock sounds on the door. Bex curses quietly under her breath and presses a few buttons on the TV remote, and her eyes widen when she sees the security feed of her front door. 

“Jackson, you can’t be here. I’ll take him out onto the patio, and you get out of here. Got it?” She switches the security footage back to the news as Jackson nods, and she ruffles his hair before standing up. The front door swings open easily, and she smiles as she meets Oswald’s eyes. 

“Bexley,” he says quietly. He looks disheveled, stretched thin, and she has the sudden urge to hold him to her. 

“Come in, Oswald. I was just about to look after the plants on the patio. Would you care to join me?” He nods and shuffles inside, and Bex loops her arm through his to pull him over to the patio doors. She knows that Jackson will slip out undetected, Jackson can be quiet when he needs to be, and she watches Oswald lower himself into a chair. Thankfully with his back to the glass patio doors. 

“It’s in your eyes, you know,” Oswald says as she’s watering the plants. She’s trying to remember all of the instructions that Ivy gave her, but plants are not her strong suit. At Oswald’s statement, she looks over her shoulder and meets his eyes. 

“What is?” She puts the watering can down so that she can walk over to the table, and she sits in the chair right next to him. 

“Knowledge. Pity. You know about my mother, don’t you?” He doesn’t sound angry or paranoid, just defeated. She wets her lips as she prepares to answer, but Oswald raises a hand to stop her. “Don’t tell me that you heard the news from Victor. He was sent after Butch after I informed him of what happened, so I know he couldn’t have told you.”

“Oswald, I—”

“Quiet!” His hand slams against the table, rattling it, but she doesn’t move. Just stays sitting still and watches him. “I will not abide anymore lies, Bexley. You have been shot, stabbed, burned, and restrained multiple times. You are involved with the man who is considered Gotham’s most ruthless assassin, but you do not fear him in the least. You are not a normal citizen. Tell me who you really are, now.”

“And if you don’t like the answer?” She likes Oswald, but she’s not going to sit still and let him kill her. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but if it comes down to him or her…well, she’s selfish enough to choose herself. 

“The truth, Bexley.” She could go with half-truths, but there’s no point in it. Oswald looks like he’s at the end of his rope, and she might be able to better help him if he knows the actual truth. 

“My name is Bexley Barba. My mother worked for Carmine Falcone, as his maid, until she was killed along with the rest of his staff on orders from Nathaniel Hawthorne. I was eleven. When I was sixteen, I went after the Hawthorne family with Mister Carmine’s blessing.”

“You worked for Carmine Falcone.”

“No, I worked for myself. Mister Carmine’s staff was like my family, and my mother was the only blood relative I had. Nathaniel Hawthorne had my family killed, so I killed his. That’s where the scars come from. I was young and inexperienced, but I was determined. It took a few months, but I got them all. An entire mob family, plus some extras, killed by the daughter of a maid. Kinda poetic, huh?”

“I remember reading about the murders. It was…inspiring. That was you?” She stays immobile as Oswald’s eyes move over her, looking at her scars with critical eyes, and then he nods. So he believes her. That’s good. 

“It wasn’t easy, and I left when I was done. I wasn’t lying about that. I stayed out of the States until a little over a month ago, when Mister Carmine called me and asked me to come back to Gotham.” When Oswald’s face twists in anger, Bex reaches out and grabs his hands in hers. He stiffens, but he allows her to lace their fingers together. “Mister Carmine wants you to succeed, but he was worried about you. It wasn’t just the big boss that was gone, all of the little bosses were gone too. Everything had shifted. He asked me to keep an eye on you and to help you. I came to Gotham, came back after seven years, to help you.”

“You knew Victor before you started singing at the nightclub.” Oswald’s mind is fascinating; he’s more than just intelligent, he’s strategic. He can put all the pieces together without even having all of the pieces. 

“Yes. Mister Carmine introduced us. Victor was supposed to be my eyes and ears. We’ve done everything we can to look out for you, but we didn’t know about Galavan.” Oswald shakes his head, but he keeps their hands clasped together. 

“After Galavan took my mother, I felt like I couldn’t trust anyone. Victor worked for Falcone. There was always the possibility that Galavan could hire him away.” Bex tightens her fingers, despite the dull ache in her left hand, and makes sure to look Oswald right in the eye. 

“Victor is loyal. If he was going to work for someone else, he’d tell you. Not that he would anyway, because he works for you. He’s loyal to you. And, while we’re on the subject, you really should treat him better.”

“Excuse me?” Oswald’s contemplative look changes to one of confusion, and Bex keeps her expression as serious as possible. 

“You should treat him better. Victor is much more than just someone who can pull a trigger. He is an assassin first and foremost, yes, but he has other skills as well. He’s more than just an attack dog. Do you know what it takes to condition someone? To train people how to be proficient killers without getting caught? You shouldn’t take him for granted.”

“I take it the relationship isn’t a lie.” Oswald smiles, just a little, and Bex grins back. 

“Oh, definitely not. Victor works for you, but he’s mine.” She keeps her smile for a beat longer and then lets it fade. “Are we going to have a problem, Oswald? Because I really do like you and want to help you. I think of you as a friend.”

“Later, we’ll talk about your deception a little more in-depth. For right now, I need all the friends I can get,” Oswald sighs. 

“I am your friend, Oswald. That was never a lie.”

“And you’re an assassin as well?”

“Yes. Would you like to see my resume and list of references?” Oswald cuts his eyes at her, but he’s starting to look a little more relaxed. 

“Your fake identity, Bexley Cavanaugh, is solid?” That’s not the question she was expecting, but he’s clearly planning something. 

“It is. I pay taxes, have a school and work history, birth certificate and social security card. I think there’s even a school article about me winning a spelling bee in the fourth grade.” Oswald hums as he leans forward, and Bex watches as his mind works. 

“Theo Galavan has to die, and the police will know it’s me. I won’t be able to run Gotham from a prison cell.” She’s not going to argue about him getting caught, because it’s already documented that he’s tried to kill Galavan. She’s also not going to try to talk him out of delivering the kill in person; she understands his need to be the one to kill Galavan. “What if I could make sure that I was declared legally insane? I’ve heard talk about the radical new therapies at Arkham Asylum. If I was declared legally insane at the time of the murder and then later declared legally sane by Arkham, I could continue to run Gotham’s criminal underground. How long do you think it would take for me to convince a couple of doctors that I was sane?”

“If you play it right, probably not long at all. Definitely beats prison, and it’s better than having to duck the cops at every turn. If you’re convicted and sent to Arkham, then later released, there’s nothing the cops can do. That’s kind of genius, sir,” Bex says and looks at him with new eyes. She knows that Oswald likes to think a few steps ahead, but this is several steps ahead. 

“Always have backup plans for your backup plans, Bex. I’ll need someone to look after the nightclub while I’m gone.” The look he’s giving her is meaningful, and she quickly shakes her head. 

“I don’t know how to run a business, especially not a nightclub.”

“What about Victor?” She tilts her head to the side as she thinks it over, and she thinks that Victor would know how to run a business. 

“Probably. Even if he doesn’t, Max has a business management degree. She’d know how to run everything.” Oswald nods at that, which means that he recognizes Max’s name. That’s good. Sometimes the big bosses don’t remember the names of the people that work for them, which Bex has always thought is bad for business. You should always know the people willing to kill for you. 

“I can’t put anything in their names, for obvious reasons, but I can put the nightclub in your name. While I’m gone, you and Victor can keep everyone in line. Just until I get back.”

“And there’s no other options, sir?” 

“No. I am going to kill Theo Galavan, and I need someone that I can trust to take care of my businesses while I’m gone. Can I trust you, Bexley Barba?” Oswald is looking into her eyes, so she lets down all of her defenses. Allows him see the real her and not just the face that she puts on for the world to see. She might be a generally happy person, but she’s also a killer. Oswald needs to see both sides of her. 

“Of course you can, Oswald.”

“I’ll call my lawyer to get the paperwork sorted immediately. Expect a call by tomorrow.” She nods and goes to answer when she hears her name being called, and she lets go of Oswald’s hands as she quickly gets to her feet. The patio door easily slides open, and she meets Victor in the kitchen. 

“Jade! You okay?” Victor is holding the woman in his arms, bridal-style, and Max is standing behind him with blood on her hands and the front of her shirt. 

“A-Okay, Miss Bex,” Jade drawls and raises a bloody thumbs-up. 

“Butch?” Oswald asks from behind her. Victor looks around her and at the other man, and Bex can’t look away from Jade’s pale face. She needs a hospital. 

“Gordon and Bullock were with him when we got there. He slipped away during our shootout.” Victor glances down at Jade, but Bex can’t tell where she’s bleeding from. Bex sees Oswald nod out of the corner of her eye, and Victor strides off. Bex follows him into the guest bedroom on this floor, and he carefully lays Jade down on the bed. 

“Where’s she hit?” Bex asks. Victor already has a knife out and is slicing away Jade’s top, and Bex looks over at Max. “The first-aid kit is under the sink in my bathroom. Go get it.”

“One of those asshole cops shot me,” Jade groans and rolls her head back against a pillow. Victor uses the blanket on the bed to wipe at the side of her stomach and ribs, and Bex can see two holes on Jade’s left side. When Victor prods at the area around the holes, Jade hisses and kicks her feet against the bed. 

“Both bullets went through.” Victor gets her to roll onto her right side, and Bex can see the two exit wounds on her back. Through and through. It’s possible the bullets damaged a rib or two though. 

“I should go. I have a lot to plan before tonight,” Oswald says quietly as Max slips back into the room. Victor looks over at him as Max starts wiping the blood away, and Bex looks between the two men. 

“I’ll be there as soon as Jade stops bleeding everywhere.” Jade raises her arm, probably to flip Victor off, but grunts in pain and drops her arm instead. 

“No, stay here.” At her confused look, Oswald smiles and reaches over to lightly squeeze her shoulder. 

“I’m probably going to walk people into a suicide mission. Those that survive will be arrested. I need Victor to stay clear of this, because he has responsibilities that you will explain to him after Jade is patched up. I’m counting on the two of you, Bexley. Don’t let me down.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.” She holds still as Oswald presses a kiss to the center of her forehead, and he nods at Victor once before leaving the room. A few beats of silence pass, and Victor doesn’t say anything until he’s sure that Oswald is out of the apartment. 

“What happened while I was gone?” Victor asks her. Max is working on cleaning the bullet holes and stitching them closed, so this is a conversation that can be tabled for later. 

“Quite a bit, and we’ll talk it over after Jade gets fixed up. How ya doing, Jade?” Bex asks as she walks over to the bed. 

“I’ve never been shot before. Burns more than I thought it would.” She tries to laugh but stops when it hurts, and Max slaps her hip as she tells her to hold still.

“Victor, comfort your girl while we sew her up,” Bex says and picks up what she’ll need. While Max works on the holes on the front of Jade’s body, Bex works on the ones in her back. Victor sits at the head of the bed, and Jade rests her head against Victor’s thigh while he carefully pets her hair. His bloody gloves are on the bed next to Jade’s body, so he’s not getting blood in her hair. Bex is going to see that as a positive. 

“You’re good at this, Miss Bex,” Max says as they carefully wipe Jade down again. 

“I’ve had plenty of practice,” Bex says as they stand up. “There’s no internal bleeding as far as I can tell, but I’m worried about her ribs. I don’t think anything is broken, but we should probably wrap her just in case. Kit’s in the back of my closet.”

“I’ll be right back.” Max quickly leaves the room, and Bex looks over at the head of the bed. Jade is taking measured breaths, and her face is scrunched up in pain. Her knuckles are white where she’s gripping Victor’s knees, but she has her head positioned so that Victor can continue to run his fingers through her hair. 

“Do I need to be worried?” Victor asks her. 

“No. Oswald has a plan, and it’s a pretty good one. Not an easy one, exactly, but doable. We’ll go over the details after Jade gets some rest.”

When Max returns, Bex helps her stand Jade up. Max and Bex tape up her wounds and then wrap her ribs, to help her stay immobile and help with the pain, while Victor strips off the bloody sheets. The blood has soaked through to the mattress, but they don’t have time to do anything about it right now. So Victor just flips the mattress over and then puts on clean sheets. They carefully lay Jade back down, and Max crawls into bed next to her. The two women curl up together, and Bex pulls Victor out of the room so that they can rest. 

“Jade’s strong. She can handle this, and I’ll call Collins to replace the bed after I dispose of that one.” It takes Bex a moment to place the name. Bradford Collins is the building manager; he’s the one who showed them around when she first moved in, but she’s never heard Victor actually say his name. 

“No point in doing it until Jade is up and moving. For now, let’s get you cleaned up,” she says and pulls him up the stairs. He’s covered in Jade’s blood, and they’ll take care of everything later.

**.xXx.**

Victor holds onto Bexley a little tighter as she talks about Oswald confronting her, because she’s sitting in his lap on the living room floor, and she reaches down to gently squeeze his forearm as she keeps talking. Max is sitting at one end of the couch in front of them, Jackson is sitting at the opposite end of the couch, and Jade is lying down between the two of them. Jade’s head is in Max’s lap while her feet are braced on Jackson’s thigh, and she’s being pampered by the both of them. Max is playing with her hair, and Jackson is gently massaging her feet. Victor doesn’t regret letting him in this time, because Jade looks relaxed despite being shot twice earlier today.

“So, in summary, Oswald knows the truth but isn’t planning on killing me for lying to him,” Bex says and turns to grin at him. Jackson makes a loud snorting noise but doesn’t stop massaging Jade’s feet. 

“As if he could! I trained you into a proper ninja! Can’t nobody get the drop on you!” Jackson says with more than a touch of pride in his voice. 

“That’s grammatically incorrect,” Max points out. 

“Please don’t get him started. I can’t listen to his argument about freedom of incorrect grammar,” Bex says quickly. 

“It’s a good argument. I have bullet points,” Jackson grins. Bex relaxes back against Victor’s chest and pulls his arms tighter around her, and it reminds him of that first night when he held her on that rickety parody of a balcony. 

“His plan is solid. Arkham has already released some inmates, mostly under the radar, but it can be done. As for the nightclub, I’d only own it in name. I don’t know how to run it,” Bex says and looks over at Max. 

“Jade and I can take care of the business side of things.”

“We got you covered, boss lady,” Jade adds sleepily. Bex gave her some of the painkillers that she refused to take, so Jade seems very relaxed despite having four new holes in her. 

“You two are the best,” Bex sighs. Then she shifts so that she’s angled towards Jackson. “What’s Hawthorne up to?”

“He’s coming back into town this week. Should I give him good news?” Jackson asks and looks at Victor before focusing his attention on Bex. 

“We’ll see how things go after tonight, but I think it’s about time. I don’t want to keep drawing this out. I want him dead.”

“Then we’ll set it up. You girls need a ride home?” Jackson asks. A part of Victor wants to keep them close, where he can keep an eye on them, but they’re not exactly safe here. The cops know that Bex is close to Cobblepot, so there’s a chance they’ll come here looking for him. Victor can easily evade them, but Jade doesn’t need to move around too much. 

“Sir?” Max asks him. Jackson annoys him most of the time, but Bex trusts the man. That’s good enough for him. 

“Go ahead.”

Max and Jackson carefully lift Jade up, careful of her wounds, and they call out a goodbye as they carry her out of the apartment. Once they’re gone, Victor and Bex collapse onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. Bex turns on the news and keeps the volume turned up, so they watch as the reporter covers the mass shootout at Galavan’s celebration party. The body count is high, but Theo Galavan and Oswald Cobblepot are still alive. Galavan is being protected, and Cobblepot is on the run. Victor can tell that Bex is worried about Cobblepot, but Victor assures her that he’ll call if either of them is needed. They have to trust that. 

“Do you think he’s okay?” Bex asks as they slide into bed. She still looks worried, so Victor presses his thumb against the wrinkles between her eyebrows. 

“I think he shouldn’t be underestimated. Cobblepot’s a survivor,” Victor answers truthfully. Cobblepot clawed his way to the top and stayed there, which Victor can admit is impressive. Cobblepot will survive this and probably come out the other side stronger. 

“Things are changing,” Bex whispers as her eyelids droop. Victor winds his arms around her and pulls her close, and she mumbles sleepily against his chest. She’ll be asleep in a minute. 

“We’ll handle it,” he says even though she can’t hear him.

**.xXx.**

“And sign here,” the lawyer says and points to another line. Bex scrawls her fake name for what feels like the hundredth time, but she knows she’s doing the right thing. When the lawyer called early this morning and asked to meet her at _Oswald’s_ , Victor told her to go. Then he promised to take care of the downstairs guest room while she was gone. Cleaning up. That’s what they’re both doing.

“Thank you,” Bex says as the lawyer gets all of the paperwork together. 

“You’re welcome and congratulations, Miss Cavanaugh.” Bex stays sitting at the bar after the lawyer leaves, and she looks around the empty nightclub. Well, that’s quite a promotion. She’s gone from nightclub singer to nightclub owner. She needs to call Max so that the woman can see what needs to be done, because Bex is clueless. So she makes the call while she’s still sitting at the bar, and Max tells her that she’ll be right over. 

“Manager’s office?” Max asks when she walks in fifteen minutes later. Bex gives her the second set of keys that the lawyer gave her, because Oswald really does think of everything, and she leads Max to the office next to the one that Oswald used. That one is to remain locked, because all of the important business-related documents are in this office. 

“How’s Jade?” Bex asks as Max starts looking through paperwork. 

“Still sleeping. One of the other girls is with her,” Max answers as she starts to arrange the papers into small piles. 

“You know, I keep forgetting that Victor has other girls. Do you think he’ll ever introduce me?” Bex likes Max and Jade, she thinks of them as friends, so she wouldn’t mind meeting some of the other girls. 

“If he needs to.” It’s a good answer. Victor doesn’t do anything unless he needs to. If there isn’t a reason for him to introduce her to any of the other girls, she might never meet them. That’s okay though. Max and Jade are already her favorites. 

“Do you need me to stick around?” Bex asks. She feels a little useless, just standing around, and Max looks away from her new desk. 

“Only if you want to. I can take care of things here, Miss Bex.” Bex nods and turns on her heel to leave, but Max makes a quiet questioning noise. Bex stops with her hand on the doorway and looks over her shoulder. “Do you still want to sing?”

“I do enjoy singing, but I have a feeling that the pace is only going to increase from here. Maybe I’ll sing again when everything calms down. Stick with the DJ or hire new singers,” she decides. Max nods and goes back to her papers, so Bex takes that as her cue to leave. 

She doesn’t go straight back to the apartment. Instead she goes to the grocery store, because they’re getting low on some of the essentials. She doesn’t buy more than she can comfortably carry, because she doesn’t have her car with her. Time trickles by as she buys a few things and browses around, and she’s organizing all of the new developments in her mind as she walks. Galavan is the Mayor of Gotham and a horrible person, which is saying something considering it’s Gotham. Oswald knows who she really is and why she came to Gotham, but he still trusts her to help him. Oswald is going to kill Galavan, she’s sure of that, and she’s mostly sure that his Arkham plan will work. All she needs to do now is take care of Hawthorne. 

“Miss Cavanaugh!” Bex holds the elevator in her apartment building as the detective jogs towards her, and he gives her a small grateful smile as he moves to stand next to her. 

“Bex, please, Detective Gordon. Are you here to see me?” she asks. 

“I take it you’ve heard about Cobblepot?” It’s Bex’s turn to smile as Jim takes her bags, freeing her arms, and she rolls her wrists to help with the renewed blood flow. 

“I heard about last night, yes. Clears things up for me actually.” She waits for Jim to give her a curious look before continuing. “Right after Halloween, he thanked me for being such a kind friend and then transferred the nightclub into my name. He disappeared after that, and I guess I know why now.”

“He gave you his nightclub?”

“Well, I paid for it. I sing because I like to sing, Detective. Not for the money,” she says as the elevator opens. The paperwork she signed earlier was dated so that it looks like she acquired the nightclub on November first, which was a week ago. Before Oswald went after Galavan. 

“So you haven’t seen him at all in the past week?” Bex opens her front door and walks in ahead of the detective, but she can’t see Victor anywhere. That’s good. Maybe he’s out, or saw Jim with her on the security feed. 

“Not since I signed the papers. Did he really try to kill the mayor?” Jim’s face does this thing that she can’t really describe, like his emotions are all twisted up, and he gently places her bags of groceries on the bar in the kitchen. 

“He did. He’s not in a good frame of mind right now, Bex. If you see him, you need to call for help.” A part of her wants to remind him that she sleeps with Victor Zsasz in her bed every night, so it’s not like she ever really needs to worry about being safe, but she has a feeling that wouldn’t go over too well. Jim might try to go looking for Victor in her apartment, and she’s still not sure if Victor is here or not. It’s also possible that Jim was the one that shot Jade, and she knows that Victor is protective of his girls. It’s best to keep the two of them separate for the time being. 

“You got it, Detective.” She notes the way that his eyes are moving around the kitchen and the parts of the living room that he can see from where he’s standing, and she leans to the side so that she can catch his eye. “I don’t mind if you have a look around, and I won’t take it personally. I know you’re just doing your job.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” There’s a part of him that wants to search for Oswald, she can see that in the way he looks around, but there’s something holding him back. How interesting. She had a feeling that he would decline her offer, it’s why she offered in the first place, but she wasn’t expecting his conflicted expression. Something is eating at Jim Gordon. 

“Can I get you something to drink then?” Jim shakes his head, and his eyes quickly look her over. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater, so there’s not much to see, but most of his focus is on her face. The bruises are practically gone now, only a few faints traces are left, and the cuts have closed up nicely. The cut along her hairline is mostly covered by her hair, and the line on the right side of her neck is currently covered by her hair since she’s left it down. 

“How’s your hand?” She holds out her left hand and lets Jim take a close look at the line going across her four fingers. Right between her first and second knuckles. While he’s looking, she clenches her hand into a fist and then slowly flexes her fingers. 

“Stiff some days but doing better. Is there anything else I can do for you, Detective?” she asks.

“You can call me Jim.” He looks good when he smiles, a little less worn down, and Bex returns the smile. 

“Take care of yourself, Jim. Everything will work itself out.”

“For Gotham’s sake, I hope so.” Bex walks Jim to the door, and he takes a moment to just look at her through the open doorway. She can tell that he wants to say something to her, probably ask her to be careful or to stay away from dangerous criminals, but he says nothing. Just gives her a tight smile and a nod before walking away, and Bex closes the door with a quiet sigh. 

“Since when are cops that hot?” Bex jumps as she spins around, and Jackson’s grinning face greets her from over the back of the couch. He’s kneeling on the couch cushion so that he can look over it at her, and Victor is standing behind him. Huh. Looks like Victor was home after all, but she’s not sure why Jackson is here. 

“Do not, I repeat, do not hit on a cop,” Bex says and points a finger right at him. “How’d you get in here anyway?”

“Honey let me in while they were disposing of the guest bed.”

“He snuck in while I wasn’t looking,” Victor clarifies. Jackson rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue the point, which means that Victor is right. She’s not even a little bit surprised. 

“So there’s a new bed?” she asks instead. 

“There is,” Victor says as he reaches her. Jackson has already vaulted over the back of the couch and is going through the bags in the kitchen, so Bex rocks up onto her toes and wraps her arms around Victor’s neck. He leans down to kiss her, softly with one hand cradling her jaw, but the mood is spoiled by the sound of Jackson laughing gleefully as he finds the snacks she bought. 

“Jackson!” Bex calls out as she looks up at Victor. His hands are gripping her hips now, light teasing touches, and she presses herself closer to him. 

“What?!” There’s the sound of rustling bags, but there’s nothing that needs to be put in the freezer or refrigerator immediately. 

“You need to leave!” Victor nips at her jaw, with just a hint of teeth, and then runs his tongue along the healed cut on the side of her neck. 

“Why?!” It sounds like Jackson’s mouth is full, so he’s probably eating the snack cakes she picked up with him in mind. 

“Because I don’t want you here when Victor bends me over the couch!” Victor groans against the side of her neck and pulls her hips up flush against his, and she can hear Jackson muttering in the background. 

“I’m taking the Twinkies with me!” Jackson yells just before the door slams shut. The sound is still echoing when she’s pulled and pushed so that her lower stomach bumps against the back of the couch, and she arches her spine as Victor presses in close against her back. 

“Did you say that just to get rid of him?” Victor whispers against her ear. One hand is low on her stomach, tugging on the button of her jeans, and his other hand is gripping her hair to pull her head back. 

“One of the reasons.” The button slips free, and Victor slowly pulls the zipper down. So slowly that she moves up onto her toes to hurry him along, but he presses harder against her to hold her still. 

“And the other reason?” She bites her lip as his hand slips inside of her jeans and pulls her tighter against him, but a low sound still escapes her. 

“Wishful thinking?” Teeth sink into the left side of her neck, where she keeps a constant bruise now, and her response is nearly Pavlovian. A moan rips out of her chest as her thighs tense, and she reaches down to push at her jeans and panties. It takes a moment for her to get them down and then kicked off, but she’s standing in just her sweater before too long. 

She knows that Victor is still wearing his full suit, and there’s something about the idea of Victor being fully clothed while she’s exposed that makes heat rush through the center of her. The sound she makes as she grinds her body back against Victor is needy, nearly begging, but she doesn’t care. She can feel him along her back and his hand is still tangled in her hair, but she needs to feel more of him. Now. Right now. She makes another keening sound as Victor turns her head to the side, and she goes completely still as his lips cover hers. Like earlier, the kiss is soft. Lips lightly touching against hers and only a small taste of his tongue along her top lip. It’s not enough. 

“Please.” Her voice sounds off, too breathless considering they haven’t even really done anything yet, but the tone prompts Victor into moving. She can feel movement against her back, he’s undoing his pants one-handed while trailing gentle kisses along her cheek and jaw, and she’s going to go crazy before they even get started. 

“Next time, I’ll make you really beg. Don’t forget, _Bexley_.” The way he drawls out her name in a growl makes her stomach clench with heat, and she gets up on her toes so that she can feel him against her. So close to where she needs him to be. “You belong to me.”

“I belong to you, Victor,” she agrees quickly as he pushes inside of her. Her hands scramble against the back of the couch before she grips the cushion tight in her fists, and Victor’s teeth clamp down on her shoulder through the sweater that she’s still wearing. Her pelvic bone pushes against the couch every time Victor rocks against her, she might even have bruises later, but it feels too good for her to care. 

Sweat is causing the thin fabric of her sweater to stick to her when Victor’s hand tightens in her hair, and she cries out as he pushes her upper body forward. The move causes her to raise up higher on her toes and her palms press flat against the middle seat of the couch cushion, and her new position means that Victor is moving deeper inside of her. She presses her face against the soft leather of the couch to muffle the sounds she’s making as Victor’s hand moves between her body and the couch, and her whole body tenses as his fingers move against her center while his pace increases. 

She lifts her face away from the couch when her orgasm hits her, so that she can hear her own voice screaming Victor’s name. The hand in her hair has moved to the back of her neck, and the grip is strong enough to hurt as Victor’s body slams against hers. Another, slightly smaller, orgasm rolls through her as Victor roars her name and then immediately pulls her up. Her body slumps against his, because her knees feel like water, and Victor presses a kiss to the top of her head before picking her up. She turns to nuzzle against his chest and then smiles up at him. 

“Is that what you wanted?” he asks as he starts up the stairs. 

“So much better than I imagined,” she sighs. Her body feels tender and hot, and it’s an amazing feeling. She loves the way Victor makes her feel. 

He doesn’t place her on the bed, like she expects. He moves over to the bathroom instead and starts the shower, and that sounds just heavenly. Especially if he’s going to be joining her. He places her on the sink counter and then strips off her sweater and bra, and she kicks her feet against the cabinet as she watches him undress. He doesn’t do it slowly or teasingly, but she still feels flushed when he’s finally stripped bare. There’s a place on his torso that she desperately wants to taste, and Victor raises a brow when she crooks her finger for him to walk over to her. 

“Did you want something else?” She runs her fingers down the lean muscles of his chest and stomach, admires the outline of his abdominal muscles when he inhales, and traces the fingers of her left hand along his iliac furrow. Then she ducks down and forwards to run her tongue along the same place. Victor hisses as he fists both hands in her hair, but he doesn’t pull her away. He holds still and lets her trail her tongue along the groove, but he shifts when she sinks her teeth into the muscle. She wants to leave a mark on him. Wants him to feel this later and remember. 

“I think the water is hot now.” Steam is filling the bathroom, and she opens her arms. Victor grabs her thighs and lifts her up, and she wraps her arms around his shoulders as he steps into the shower. She knows there’s still plenty of things for her to worry about, but she’s going to enjoy this for right now. Hmm, she might even enjoy it two more times before they make it out of the shower.

**.xXx.**

“Ugh, I hate you so much,” Jackson says as Bex looks into the living room. They’re sitting in the kitchen, on the stools, and eating an early dinner together.

“What? Why?” Bex asks quickly before taking another bite of chicken. 

“Because you’ve got a sex glow, that’s why. How are you even walking?” In complete honesty, Jackson is happy for Bex. The girl he met broke bones just for accidental touches, so it’s a change to see her so freely touch people now. It’s also good to know that she can enjoy sex. (She told him once, what felt like years ago, that she thought something was wrong with her. She could enjoy her own company just fine, but she was never able to get off with someone else. He tried explaining to her that it’d be different with someone she wasn’t planning on killing; it looks like she finally took his advice to heart. Victor should be thanking him.)

“Slowly and carefully. Apparently, with the proper motivation and inspiration, I can in fact put my ankles behind my ears.” Jackson’s groan is loud and long-suffering, and Bex laughs around her mouthful of dinner. Which is exactly what Jackson is aiming for. He likes it when she laughs. She deserves to laugh, and to have really athletic and bendy sex with a hot assassin. He’s not even bitter. 

“More information than I ever needed to hear. So, where is the sex god?” he asks and makes a show of looking around. 

“He went to check up on Jade, which is why I called you over.” Bex’s face is serious now, so Jackson sets down his fork and takes a quick drink of water. 

“Oh?” he asks. 

“I think it’s time we discussed how I’m going to deal with Hawthorne, and how you’re going to help.”

“I do love a good planning session,” Jackson says and rubs his hands together. Bex grins, baring her teeth, and Jackson knows he’s in for a fun planning session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had all of my favorite people in it (minus one), and I really do love this chapter. Lots of Victor and Bex, some Max and Jade, Jackson, and Jim! All it needed was Ivy, but she’ll be in the next chapter!
> 
> So, any thought on this chapter? Personally, I always thought it was weird that Oswald didn’t ask for Victor’s help with taking out Galavan. (Victor is Gotham’s best assassin. Killing people is what he does.) So I decided to make it where Oswald has everything planned out for _after_ Galavan is dead, and he’s going to give Victor more responsibility and therefore needs him kept away from the Galavan situation. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	17. Innocent and Childlike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to update this sooner, but I keep getting distracted. My plan is to update my other three active stories first, but the next chapter of this story is halfway written so it shouldn’t be long before I update again. (If I am taking too long, feel free to yell at me. It helps motivate me.)
> 
> This chapter covers events that happened after **2x08** ( _Tonight’s The Night_ -crazy stuff happened with Barbara, Jim, and Lee in a church. The more relevant part of the episode is the ending, when Ed finds Oswald in the woods) as well as after **2x09** ( _A Bitter Pill To Swallow_ -assassins come after Jim and Barnes, there was that crazy Eduardo Flamingo cameo, and Oswald was recuperating at Ed’s house). If you’re curious about the timeline of anything, feel free to ask in a comment.

[ ](http://s1290.photobucket.com/user/IronBat/media/GOTHAM/GothamChap17_zpsjsg8o6ks.png.html)

“Bex?”

“Oswald!” Victor opens his eyes as Bex sits upright in the bed, and she scrambles to put her phone on speaker so that both of them can hear. The clock on the bedside table lets her know that it’s early in the morning, and she scrubs her hands across her eyes.

“It is lovely to hear your voice, my dear.” Bex holds in her sigh of relief, because Oswald sounds okay, but she’s still worried. 

“Are you okay? You’ve been missing for days!” she says quickly. He’s only been missing for two days, but a lot can happen in just a couple of days. There’s also the fact that Theo Galavan was arrested yesterday for the kidnapping of the previous mayor, which means that Galavan is behind bars where Oswald can’t reach him. 

“I sustained a few minor injuries, but I am perfectly well. I am staying with a friend.” Oswald sounds healthy enough, his voice is clear and strong, but she doesn’t like this. The criminal underground is currently in shambles, and this is the first that anyone has heard from Oswald since the night of Galavan’s election party. 

“Do you want me to come get you? Or Victor? Or me and Victor can come get you?” Victor’s cheek twitches at her tone, like he’s fighting down a smile, and she reaches over to pinch the skin over his hip. He doesn’t even flinch. 

“Thank you for your concern, Bexley, but this is the best place for me right now. I need to keep you and Victor clear of this Galavan business.” Business…ongoing. How can it be ongoing if Galavan has been arrested?

“You think Galavan is going to be released, sir?” Victor asks. If Oswald is surprised to hear Victor, he hides it very well. 

“I’m sure of it. A man like Theo Galavan won’t stay locked up for long. Gabe has some guys keeping tabs on his people, and I’ll have someone at the courthouse to keep an eye on the proceedings,” Oswald says quickly. Huh. He certainly hasn’t been idle in the past couple of days. 

“What would you like us to do, sir?” Bex curls up against Victor after he asks the question, and they both wait to hear Oswald’s decision. 

“Keep doing what you’ve been doing. Stay clear of this. After Galavan is dead, I’ll go to Arkham like we planned.” Bex bites the corner of her lip as she raises a brow at Victor, and he gives a quick nod of his head. 

“About that, Oswald. I have some concerns,” she says slowly. 

“Oh?” He’s not just dismissing her; that’s usually a good sign, and she’s going to interpret it that way. 

“I don’t like the idea of you going in there completely undefended. If it’s alright with you, sir, I’d like some time to establish a different identity and start working at Arkham. I need time to be a regular there before you show up, at least a couple of weeks. I won’t interfere with anything while you’re there. I’ll just keep an eye out.” This is something that she’s thought about on her own and discussed with Victor, and they both agreed that it was better if she was the one that worked at Arkham. Victor has girls that could probably easily take the job on, but it’s better if less people know about Oswald’s plan. 

“I need you to run my nightclub.” He’s not telling her no, not exactly, and she can work with that. 

“Max and Jade are handling the day-to-day work, and I’ll continue to make appearances. I once maintained three separate identities for six months, sir. I think I can handle two for however long it takes you to get out of Arkham.” That’d been an interesting six months. Jackson had fun quizzing her and kept showing up around her in his own ridiculous costumes. Her favorite had involved a mustache and gold tooth. 

“Set it up and make sure that the second identity is iron tight. No mistakes, Bexley. We’ll talk again after Galavan is dead. Until then, business as usual. Understood, Victor?”

“Understood, sir.”

“You can count on us, Oswald.”

“I know. We’ll see each other again soon.” The phone call ends, and Bex looks down at the phone for a moment. Huh. That went differently than she expected. She thought Oswald would sound angrier, possibly be more argumentative, but that was surprisingly pleasant. 

“Looks like Operation Loony Bin Nurse is a go,” she muses. 

“Jackson should be shot for making up that name,” Victor sighs and pulls her closer to him. She tosses her phone onto the bedside table and splays her limbs out over him, and his arms wrap tightly around her back. “I’ve got a house that the second identity can use. Small, edge of the city, private. Do you still have other usable identities?”

“A few. I think I’ll go with Olivia Fischer; that’s the identity I used to work as a caregiver for this rich old lady, so that should transfer to basic nursing pretty easily.” Most of her identities have to be discarded after a job, but she’s been able to hold onto a few if the job went smoothly enough. That one had been easy peasy. 

“What does she look like?” She tilts her head back to meet Victor’s eyes, and she smiles up at him as his hands move over her back and ribs. It’s a lazy slide of skin against skin. 

“Red hair. Green eyes. Five-five, so I’ll get to wear lifts. No scars or tattoos, so I’ll have to cover up quite a bit. Quiet and timid, rarely makes direct eye contact, soft voice. Parents and a younger sister in Florida. Damian and Carol Fischer; Amber Fischer is sixteen, and Olivia is twenty-five so the age difference means they’re not very close.” She lists everything off from memory and thinks of the small amendments that will need to be made to secure a job at Arkham Asylum. She’s sure she can pull it off. 

“I’ll start setting things in motion,” Victor says and gently squeezes the back of her neck. She makes a sound low in her throat, but she knows they don’t have time to roll around in the sheets. Victor has business to take care of, and so does she. She needs to have her whole focus on helping Oswald, on doing what needs to be done to ensure his safety once this Galavan thing is handled, so she needs to tidy up her own little problem. Hawthorne is back in the city, and it’s nearly time to get rid of him. 

“I will check in with Max and see if she needs anything, and I’ll talk to Jackson to see where he’s at.” She presses a kiss under Victor’s chin before scurrying out of the bed before she talks herself into staying in it, and she can hear Victor moving behind her. It’s time to start another day.

**.xXx.**

“Perfect timing, Miss Bex,” Max says as she walks into the office.

“’Cause you’re perfect!” Jade sings from her place on the couch. Going by the glazed look of her eyes, Bex is going to assume that Jade is still enjoying the pain pills that Bex gave her. That’s good, considering the state of her ribs. 

“Perfect timing?” Bex asks as she sits down across from Max. 

“I just got off the phone with Mister Zsasz. I thought he’d want to hear the news from me before seeing it on the news.” There’s a small smile hanging around the edges of Max’s lips, and Jade is laughing quietly. 

“That sounds ominous. Should I be worried?” Her and Victor watched the news before bed last night, and she doesn’t remember seeing anything too upsetting. There was just talk of Galavan’s arrest. 

“Someone put a hit out on Jim Gordon last night. When the first hitman failed, they sent four more.” When Bex arches a brow, Max smiles outright and continues. “Four of the hitmen are dead. The last one, Eduardo Flamingo, is currently in custody. Jim Gordon is still alive.”

“That’s good news. I like Jim.” Jade snorts, and Bex twists around in her chair so that she can meet the other woman’s eyes. “I don’t like that he might have shot you though.”

“Eh, I shot him first. Karma is a bitch, right?” That’s it. She’s going to have to separate Jackson from Victor’s girls, especially if Jade is already starting to talk like him. 

“I suppose so. How did Victor take the news?” Bex asks and faces Max again. 

“He said something about making a point and to let you know that he’ll be home late tonight,” Max says with a dark look. Making a point? What kind of point does Victor need to make? 

“The way the boss man sees it, Jim’s his. If any assassin in Gotham is going to kill Jim Gordon, it’s going to be Mister Zsasz. And now he knows that five other assassins tried to kill his target? Boss man is going to show those fuckers what a real assassin can do.”

“I’m limiting your time with Jackson,” Bex tells Jade as she categorizes the new information. Jade pouts at the mention of the separation, Bex can hear her mumbling something about not being able to meet her taffy quota, but it’s just background noise as Bex’s mind works. She’s not surprised that Victor is possessive. That much is obvious, and not just when it comes to her. He’s possessive of his girls too. She just didn’t realize that part of his personality extended to his targets. If he considers Jim to be one of his targets, future or otherwise, it makes sense for him to be a little upset about someone else trying to take over the job. 

“You really like the detective?” Max asks when she stays quiet for a little too long. 

“He’s been very kind to me. He knows that I’m close to Oswald and that I’m involved with Victor, but he hasn’t held any of that over me. I think there’s more to the good detective.”

“Like good aim?” Jade quips. 

“Like darkness,” Bex counters without thought. It doesn’t make it any less true though. There’s a look that Jim gets in his eyes sometimes, and it’s not the look that the hero has. Not the look of a villain either. He’s caught somewhere in the middle. 

“I think you might be right,” Max quietly agrees. Then she clears her throat and speaks a little louder. “I’m sure Mister Zsasz will take care of things quickly.”

“So am I.” Victor is definitely efficient, there’s no doubt about that, and she’s a little curious about what he has planned. She can’t wait to hear all about it. Before any of them can say anything else, there’s a quiet knock on the door. Max calls out for whoever it is to come in, and Bex shifts in her chair so that she can look the newcomer over. 

“Miss Max, I—Oh, whoops, sorry. I didn’t realize you had company,” the boy says and waves awkwardly at her. Because he is a boy. If he’s a day over eighteen, Bex will be surprised. 

“Miss Bex ain’t company, Quinn,” Jade drawls out. She sounds half asleep. The boy looks down at his shuffling feet before peeking over at her, and Bex smiles gently at the boy. He sort of reminds her of Jackson, in a way. He looks to be about six feet tall, which is taller than Jackson, but he’s lean. Thick dark brown hair is sticking up around his head like he’s been pulling on it, something that Jackson does regularly, and his eyes are a beautiful light brown color. It’s more than just physical similarities though. He’s holding himself loosely, but she has a feeling that there’s more to him than the gangly awkward image that he’s projecting. 

“This is Quinn. He’s been helping me out around the nightclub. Say hello to Miss Bexley Cavanaugh; she owns _Oswald’s_ ,” Max says with a steady look. The boy bobs his head a few times while he nods and then moves his eyes back over to Bex.

“Hello, Miss Bexley.” He smiles as he says it and makes a show out of bowing to her, and there’s a deeper kind of recognition in his eyes. Just how much does he know?

“Please, just Bex. One of Victor’s?” Bex asks Max. She was under the impression that Victor only employed women, but she could be wrong. It happens. 

“No, he’s mine,” Max says and smiles at the boy. His cheeks turn a light pink as he ruffles the back of his hair, which is just adorable. The kid also has a really good jaw line. 

“Max took in a stray, just like the boss man did with us. Circle of life. I don’t wanna be Timon,” Jade mumbles and then groans quietly as she shifts on the couch. Bex notices the boy biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, but Bex lets out a quiet chuckle before meeting Max’s eyes. 

“Maybe we should get her a lower dosage?” she whispers. Max grins while Jade grumbles, and Bex notices the boy shifting nervously on his feet. Right. He probably came to the office for a reason. So Bex turns to address him directly. “Is everything alright?”

“There’s a lovely gentleman out front asking to see the owner. I tried to get rid of him, Miss Max,” he says and looks over at Max. The sigh that Max releases is full of frustration, and she plants her palms firmly on top of the desk. 

“I’ll take care of this, Miss Bex.” A man asking to see the owner, a usually calm Max sounding frustrated, and a kid that looks uncomfortable? Oh, Bex really hopes that her current hunch is right. She could use a little exercise. 

“Don’t worry about it, Max. You have an actual job to do, so I’ll go speak to him. Make sure Jade doesn’t accidentally smother herself,” Bex says as she stands up. 

“With all due respect, fuck you, boss lady!” Jade grunts out. Bex laughs outright, because she’s definitely having a talk with Jackson about his corrupting influence later, and stands up. 

She’s dressed simply today, in a pair of black skinny jeans and a white v-neck tee shirt, and her hair is balled up on top of her head. A lot of her skin is on display, scars and tattoos and bruises, so she’s sure that she doesn’t look all that menacing. She’s even wearing Converses instead of boots. Still, she doesn’t have to wear full tac gear to take care of business. Once she’s standing, she smooths her hands over the thin tee shirt and smiles at the faded gray picture on it. Oh, she really hopes this is what she thinks it is because she wants to see Victor’s face when she tells him that she went all badass while wearing a unicorn tee shirt. She forces her smile off her face as she looks up at the boy, Quinn, and her brows raise when she realizes that she has to tip her head back quite a bit to meet his eyes. Yep. Definitely at least six feet, which means Quinn is nearly a foot taller than Bex. 

“Lead the way, Quinn.” He nods, grinning all the while, and then spins around on his toes to walk out of the office. Bex smiles when she realizes that he’s wearing Converses too, bright yellow instead of black like hers, but she likes the kid’s style. She follows behind him and catalogues little things about him, like the graceful way he moves around. He’s wearing gray skinny jeans and a plain dark blue tee shirt, so she can tell that he’s lean. Most people probably write him off as skinny, but she can see the strength in the muscles in his arms. She’s sure that people probably underestimate him, but that can be an advantage. 

“What took you so long?!” a man yells as they walk into the main part of the nightclub. There’s a man sitting at the far end of the bar, with a glass and a bottle of something that looks expensive in front of him, and there’s a heavily muscled man standing behind him with his arms crossed. Bex is going to call them Boss and Muscle.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I brought the owner just like you asked. This is Bexley Cavanaugh.” Quinn makes the introduction and then quickly moves behind the bar, even though Bex is convinced that he’s too young to bartend, and Bex holds still as the man looks her over. She keeps her hands loose by her sides and resists the urge to rip the man’s eyes out as they linger over certain areas of her body. 

“Miss Cavanaugh,” Boss starts. He draws her name out as he pours himself another drink, and she shifts so that she can lean one arm against the bar. She’s close enough to touch Boss now, and to smell the strong scent of alcohol and cologne clinging to him. Muscle doesn’t look alarmed at her close position, so he doesn’t view her as a threat.

“How can I help you, Mister…” She trails off and arches a brow, and she locks her jaw when Boss quickly downs his drink instead of answering her. That’s just rude.

“You’ve got a business in a very dangerous part of town, Miss Cavanaugh. A little lady like you could use some good protection.” Yes. This is what she was hoping it was, which means she’ll probably get to have a little fun. 

“I don’t need protection,” she says honestly. Quinn’s eyes are wide as he cleans glasses, but he looks perfectly relaxed so he’s working on staying calm. Staying calm in a very tense, possibly a soon-to-be violent, situation is a very good skill. Boss snorts and pours himself another drink, and Bex tilts her head to the side when he looks her over again. 

“It’s a modest fee. More than reasonable. I can understand if you need some time to get on your feet, seeing as how you so recently acquired this fine establishment.” He leaves his glass untouched on top of the bar as he gestures around the room, and Bex forces her muscles to relax as he leans closer to her and tries to look down her shirt. “There are other ways you can pay, just until you get more settled.”

“That does sound perfectly reasonable,” she says quietly. She’s looking down, away from the man’s eyes, but she can see the way that Quinn freezes after she speaks. The kid’s mouth even dropped open in surprise. Then Boss reaches out, like he’s going to touch her neck or the curve of her shoulder, and she moves on instinct. 

She grabs Boss’s wrist and twists his arm behind his back with her left hand, and she presses her right forearm against the back of his neck so that she can slam his face against the bar. His full glass shatters under his cheek, so that expensive vodka mixes with blood on the bar top, and his quick scream sounds wet. She keeps holding his arm behind his back and keeps the pressure up so that he stays pressed against the bar as she pulls her gun out, and she points it straight at Muscle just as he’s starting to reach for the gun under his jacket. 

“Miss Bex?” Quinn drawls out. The kid hasn’t moved, he’s even still holding a glass and a rag, and Bex smiles over at him to let him know that the situation is under control. 

“Now that I have your attention, I’m going to repeat my earlier statement. I do not need protection, and this fine establishment does not need protection. The women running this bar, under my ownership, work for Victor Zsasz. You know who that is, right?” Boss tries to push up, but she just twists his arm and then grinds his cheek against the broken glass on the bar. 

“Yes,” he finally grits out. Muscle shifts, and Bex moves her gun so that the barrel stays pointed right between his eyes.

“So, tell me, should I let Victor know that his protection isn’t adequate? Does he need to know that he has competition?” When the man doesn’t say anything, she uses the hold on him to lift him up and then slam him back down. The man behind him flinches, and Bex is pretty sure she heard something snap. Cheekbone maybe?

“No, Miss Cavanaugh. I’m sorry,” Boss moans out. 

“Now, do me a favor and spread the word around that _Oswald’s_ is not to be fucked with. Can you do that for me?” Great, now she’s going to have to limit her own time with Jackson. He’s such a bad influence. 

“Yes, Miss Cavanaugh.” Bex considers slamming him against the bar one more time, but she feels like she got her point across. So she slings him away from the bar and then smiles as he slides across the floor. When she waves her gun, Muscle moves after him. The big man helps his boss up, and Bex waves as they quickly scramble out of the nightclub. Once they’re gone, she returns her gun to the holster situated at the small of her back and spins around to face Quinn. 

“That was fun,” she sighs and smiles. Quinn’s eyes are still wide, but he’s smiling wide enough to show off deep dimples in his cheeks. Definitely reminds her of Jackson. 

“How did you move like that?” Quinn asks her in a rush. Jackson trained her to move on instinct, to always be aware of her own body and her surroundings, so doing things like that is second nature. For months, Jackson would appear like a ghost and attack her until she could properly protect herself and turn the tables. 

“Training. I’m sure Max can teach you if you ask her. Pass me some stuff to clean this with?” Quinn ducks under the bar and pops back up a moment later with some kind of cleaner and paper towels, and Bex can work with that. 

“Did it take a long time to learn?” Quinn asks her as she starts gathering up the pieces of glass. 

“How to move without too much thought and pure instinct, or how to slam a person’s face against a hard surface?” She walks the glass over to a small trashcan and listens to the little tinkling sound it makes as it settles at the bottom, and Quinn is biting the inside of his cheek again as Bex walks back over to the bar. 

“Both?” There’s a sheepish smile on his face, innocent and childlike, and Bex starts working on cleaning the blood and alcohol up as she talks. 

“Well, the second one is fairly easy to learn. One of the best things about being easily underestimated? Large narcissistic assholes will always underestimate someone that they believe is weaker than them, and you can use that to your advantage. You can grab them and slam them into almost anything before their tiny minds can even process the fact that _you_ are attacking _them_. If you can, try to make sure you can still see their faces. That look of surprise is hilarious,” she says as she carefully mops up the bar. 

“And the first one?” Quinn asks with a little more excitement in his voice. 

“Depends entirely on you. It takes proper training and discipline, but anyone can do it. It took two months before I could see an attack coming and then an extra six weeks before I could do anything about it. Once you learn it though, it never really goes away. Wanna go ask Max for some lessons?” The bar is clean now, so she walks over to dispose of the dirty paper towels. Quinn shifts a little on his feet, but he nods his head after meeting Bex’s eyes. “Let’s go tell the girls about our visitor and your newfound passion for beating people up.”

**.xXx.**

“Hello, Ivy,” Bex says as she steps outside. Ivy immediately flows to her feet and looks right into Bex’s eyes, which isn’t Ivy’s usual greeting. Normally she just glances at Bex before starting towards the diner, but the small girl has her shoulders squared as she looks right up at Bex.

“I need to speak to you and Victor.” Well, it’s pretty late, but she still hasn’t heard from Victor. She’s spent her entire day and most of the night inside of _Oswald’s_ , entertaining Jade and teaching Quinn a few things so Max could concentrate on work, and she hasn’t felt the need to call Victor. Especially since he’s probably working. She really doesn’t want to interrupt that. 

“Victor’s working, and I’m not sure when he’ll be home. Can you just talk to me?” Ivy glances down for a moment as she thinks, but it’s not long before she’s looking up at Bex again. 

“I want to talk about me living with you. You and Victor live together, don’t you?” When Bex nods, Ivy continues. “So I need to talk to both of you.”

“That sounds fair. Why don’t you come home with me? I’ll make us some dinner, and we’ll wait for Victor to come home together.” Ivy nods and turns around, and Bex watches on curiously as she gathers up a large bag. The duffel bag is nearly the same size as Ivy, and Bex reaches forward to carry it for the girl. Ivy lets her, after a second of hesitation, and she wraps her small hand around Bex’s wrist. 

Bex tells Ivy that she owns the nightclub now as they walk towards home, and she tells the girl a few stories about her day. She skips some things entirely, like roughing up the guy who came into the club this afternoon, but she tells Ivy about the card game that Jade is teaching her. Talks about listening to Quinn sing along as Bex sang and Jade played a guitar. She manages to keep talking for the entire walk home, with only a few questions or comments from Ivy, and she watches the way that the girl’s eyes widen when she stops in front of her apartment building. 

“Penthouse,” Ivy says slowly. She tips her head back to look up at Bex, and Bex looks down at her. “That means the very top, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” She leads Ivy inside and into the elevator, and they ride up to the top floor without being stopped. Once they’re inside the apartment, Bex places Ivy’s bag next to the stools in the kitchen and then moves over to the refrigerator. She can hear Ivy wandering around, looking around the kitchen and the living room as she pulls out the ingredients for a meat-less soup, and then there’s the sound of a stool being pulled out. 

“This place is big. Just you and Victor live here?” Ivy asks. Bex isn’t the best cook, she can admit to that, but opening up some cans and pouring them into a pot isn’t too difficult. It shouldn’t take too long for the soup to heat up either. 

“Yes, just us. Max and Jade come by sometimes, along with another one of my friends, but they don’t stay here. There’s two extra bedrooms. Each with their own bathroom,” Bex says as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. She quickly pulls up her text messages and finds Victor’s name. 

_Ivy is in the apartment. Don’t come home covered in blood. Don’t wanna scare the girl_

“Your TV is really big too,” Ivy says as Bex keeps a careful eye on the soup. It’s supposed to only take a few minutes to heat up. 

“I wanted a bigger one, but Victor talked me into getting that one instead. I think he made a good call.” She mostly picked out things that day to see just how many of Victor’s buttons that she could push; she was still learning who he was then, and something inside of her cheered every time his eyes darkened or the muscle in his jaw ticked. Her phone vibrates in her pocket, so she pulls it out and takes a quick look at the screen. 

_Ivy doesn’t scare easy. Be home soon_

“Is that Victor?” The soup is boiling and popping, so it’s done. She moves the pot to a different eye and then moves over to the cabinets to get down some bowls. 

“Yep. He said he’ll be home soon.” Ivy hums behind her but doesn’t say anything, and Bex carefully spoons them both out a large helping of soup. “Do you want to eat on the patio? You can check on the plants after you finish eating.”

“Yeah, okay.” Ivy’s tone is even, but she’s already looking towards the patio when Bex turns around with both bowls in her hands. She motions with her head for Ivy to go ahead of her, and the girl slides open the patio door before quickly darting outside. Bex can tell that she wants to go look at the plants that line the perimeter of the patio, but she drags her feet over to the table instead. 

“Eat first and then you can go say hello to the plants.” Ivy nods and starts eating her soup, and Bex smiles at the rare show of enthusiasm. It only takes the girl a matter of minutes to finish her soup, and she slips out of her chair as soon as her bowl is empty. 

Bex isn’t sure how much time passes before footsteps sound from the kitchen, but the warm bowls are cold and Ivy is still circling around the patio as she trails her fingers along the plants. Bex can hear her muttering quietly under her breath, but she’s being too quiet for Bex to pick out any particular words. When the steps come outside, Bex twists around and smiles up at Victor as he walks over to the table. He’s dressed in his usual tight black pants and heavy boots, but his jacket and shoulder holster are missing. His black shirt is buttoned up to his throat and tucked into his pants, and Bex pulls on one of his suspenders once he’s close enough. 

“So you finally brought the stray home,” he says before leaning down to press a kiss against the top of her head. His dark eyes are shining, showing more pupil than the usual dark brown color of his eyes, and he looks both relaxed and animated so she’s guessing that he’s had a very good day. 

“Actually, she asked to speak to both of us about possibly staying. Are you okay with that?” Victor pulls a chair over directly next to hers, and she watches the way his brow arches as he moves to grab another chair. 

“You’re the boss, boss,” he says cheerfully as he places the second chair in front of her. So there’s a chair beside her and another one facing her. 

“Only in certain situations. This is our home, and this decision would affect both of us. Now, would you be okay with Ivy living with us?” Victor sits down in the chair next to her, and she loves the casual way that he slips an arm around her shoulders. 

“I’m okay with taking in the stray.” She knew that Victor liked Ivy! The answer makes her grin, and she leans over to smack a kiss against his cheek. 

“Ivy! Victor’s here, so I think it’s time for us to talk!” Bex calls out. Ivy whispers to a plant before walking over to them, and Victor points at the chair in front of them. The small girl sits in the chair and scoots back until her feet are off the ground, and the whole sitting situation feels surreal. It’s like they’re sitting down for a family discussion, which they kind of are. 

“You remember that girl that was setting everything on fire?” That’s not how Bex was expecting Ivy to start, but she nods anyway. It’s been around a week since then, so she doesn’t understand why Ivy is bringing it up. 

“Friend of yours?” Victor asks. Ivy looks between the two of them, for the same amount of time, and she keeps her eyes flicking between them at regular intervals. 

“No. I think she was a friend of Cat’s. Cat’s my friend. The cops were looking for Cat, to find that other girl, so they talked to me.”

“A cop questioned you?” Bex asks. She doesn’t like the thought of cops questioning Ivy; they could send her away to some kind of juvenile detention center, and that’s not an idea that sits okay with Bex. Because that’s what the cops have been doing to the street kids that get in their way. 

“He said he’d call people to come get me if I didn’t tell him where Cat was staying. I told him, so he let me go. Diego said that the only way the cops can’t send me away is if I live with someone. Really live with someone. Like a new mom and dad,” Ivy says and looks between them again. 

“You want me to adopt you?” Bex asks. Because Bex is the one that would have to do the adopting, since Victor is…well, he’s a pretty well-known assassin. Adoption though, that’s a whole different kind of responsibility than just sheltering the girl. 

“I don’t want to go to the center. It’s prison for kids,” Ivy says and crosses her arms. She’s so small and still so young, but she’s asking for something pretty big. 

“Do you understand what it would mean if I adopted you, Ivy? Everything it would mean?” She can feel Victor’s fingers lightly circling around the nape of her neck, and the touch is calming. Soothing. 

“I would live here with you and Victor,” Ivy states simply. 

“That would only be part of it. You would live here with me, but we’d have to do everything by the book. I could probably pay off people to stop random check-ins, but you’d really have to stay with me. You’d be my responsibility, so if you ran off I’d be the one in trouble. I’ll have to prove that I’m taking care of you, which would mean starting school again.”

“We could homeschool. Tutors are cheap,” Victor adds. Bex shrugs, because that would probably be the wisest option. 

“So you’d have to take lessons, just like you were in school again. It wouldn’t be some small thing, Ivy. Do you get that? You would be my responsibility, so you wouldn’t be able to just come and go as you please. It’ll be more serious than that.”

“You’ll be like my mom,” Ivy sums up. It sounds so simple coming from her; maybe because it is simple to her, but Bex’s mind is whirling. Before she can say anything else, Ivy continues speaking. “But not like my real mom. She drank when my dad hit her, and she let him hit me. Victor won’t hit me. You’ll remember to feed me. I’ll be homeschooled. I’ll be good and won’t make trouble.”

“Victor? I don’t suppose anyone in the family court system owes you any favors? Adoption usually takes forever, but I think this should be taken care of quickly,” Bex says and watches Ivy’s face. Once she realizes that Bex is agreeing to do more than just take her in, her face splits in a smile. Even her eyes look slightly warmer than usual. 

“I might know a couple of people. I’ll make some calls tomorrow,” he says and lightly grips the back of her neck. 

“Good. You can handle that part while Ivy and I go shopping. We’ll need to furnish her room, get her some more clothes, things for school. If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right.” Bex stands up after she finishes speaking, and she rocks back when Ivy jumps on her. Thin arms wrap tightly around her waist, and she gently wraps her arms around Ivy’s shoulders. When she was Ivy’s age, she dreamed of someone coming to save her from the streets. (Sometimes she even dreamed of Mister Carmine saving her.) No one ever came for her, but maybe this is the universe’s way of giving her a second chance. That’s how she’s going to look at it anyway. 

“It’s late. I’ll go find something of yours for Ivy to sleep in. You can let her pick out a room so she can have a shower before bed.” Ivy pulls back enough to look up at Victor, but she keeps her arms locked around Bex. 

“How does that sound to you?” Ivy nods and lets her go, and Bex follows the girl inside of the apartment. 

Twenty minutes later, she’s sitting on the new bed in the downstairs bedroom with a small pile of clothes next to her. Ivy looked over both extra bedrooms before deciding on the downstairs room, and she’s been in the shower for a little over ten minutes now. Victor is upstairs, taking his own shower and getting their room ready for bed, and she wouldn’t mind taking a shower of her own. She was active today, so she’s gonna have to shower before bed. She sits up a little straighter when the shower cuts off, and Ivy shuffles into the bedroom a minute later. She’s got a large fluffy green towel wrapped around her, and her wet hair is hanging down around her. It’s even longer than she thought. 

“I need clothes.” Bex picks up the small pile and holds them out, and she closes her eyes after Ivy takes the clothes. She can hear rustling as the girl gets dressed, but she keeps her eyes closed until Ivy calls her name. When she opens her eyes, Ivy is wearing one of Bex’s plain gray tee shirts and a pair of black shorts. The shirt is obviously too big on her, and she’s holding up the shorts with both hands. 

“You gotta tie the string. Come here,” she says and holds her arms out. Ivy drags her feet over to her, and Bex is careful not to touch Ivy as she pulls on the drawstring of the shorts so that they’ll stay up. The last thing she wants to do is make Ivy uncomfortable, and this will be much easier after they buy some clothes in her size. Which they are most definitely going to do tomorrow. 

“This whole room is going to be mine?” Ivy asks as she looks around. The room is pretty empty. The bed has plain white sheets and a blue blanket, and there’s a small table next to the bed that’s bare. The closet is equally empty. Maybe they can pick up some furniture and stuff too. Like a desk and maybe a bookcase. 

“Yes, this whole room is all yours. You can do whatever you want to it. Well, nothing too crazy.”

“Can I have plants?” That shouldn’t surprise her. Not after the way Ivy talks about plants and the attention she paid to the plants on the patio. 

“Your bedroom actually has a window, so I think that can be arranged. We’ll look around tomorrow,” Bex promises and stands up. She stays in the room as Ivy gets settled in the bed, and she calls out a quiet goodnight before turning off the light. She leaves the door cracked open, just in case Ivy needs to go to the kitchen or something, and then she quickly makes her way up the stairs. 

“Shower?” Victor asks when she walks inside their bedroom. He’s already showered and dressed in his pajamas, so just a pair of sweatpants, and she nods before ducking into the closet. She grabs a pair of purple shorts, a black tank top, and a pair of plain black cotton panties. She carries the pile into the bathroom, where Victor is already waiting for her. The shower is running, and Victor pulls himself up onto the sink counter as she starts to undress. 

“I know you probably had a fun day, but I wanna go first. It won’t take long.” She raises up onto her toes so that she can press a quick kiss to his lips before stepping into the shower, and she tells Victor all about her day. From meeting Quinn, to roughing up the guy who tried to get her to pay for protection, and finishes by telling him everything she did with the girls and Quinn. The stories are mostly fun, and she can hear Victor laughing quietly at some of their antics. 

“Quinn has been with Max since he was fifteen. That’s a little over four years now. He has potential,” Victor remarks as she steps out of the shower. The towel she uses is large and fluffy, soft, but she’s still quick about drying off. Huh, well, she’s surprised. That means that Quinn is nineteen now, but he is still too young to bartend. 

“I think he’s just precious. Now, what did you do today?” she asks as she starts pulling on her pajamas. Victor is still sitting on the counter next to the sink, and her eyes quickly look at the flash of white at his side. The first-aid kit is sitting next to Victor’s hip, unopened, and she eyes it as she pulls her shorts up. 

“You heard about the people sent after Gordon?” She slips her tee shirt on over her head and then moves between Victor’s thighs. 

“I did. I had no idea you liked Jim so much.” Victor grunts as she taps her fingers against his knees, and she tilts her head as she looks up at him. 

“Jim is my kill. I thought that was obvious, but I guess some people were simply misinformed. So I informed them.” His long fingers pop open the first-aid kit, but Bex doesn’t look away from his face. 

“Informed them how exactly?”

“I know the network that put out the hit on Gordon. They sent five people, so I picked five people.” Bex lets that sink in, and she reaches up to lightly grip Victor’s chin between her thumb and index finger. Once his eyes are locked with hers, she licks her lips and asks her next question very slowly. 

“Did you assassinate five assassins today?” Victor’s grin bares his teeth, the smile is razor sharp, and Bex feels her thighs tense as his pupils dilate. 

“And it was easy,” he answers. The last word is said slowly, from between his clenched teeth, and heat throbs low in her stomach. She pulls his face down as she leans up a little more, and her eyes slip closed as their lips brush.

“I probably shouldn’t find that so hot. Why is that so hot?” she whispers against his lips. She licks a line up the center of his lips before falling back onto her heels, and she lets her hand slide off his face as his eyes open. 

“Because competency is attractive?” She’s already holding the knife from the first-aid kit when he asks the question, and she hums a little as she thinks it over. It makes sense. She’s always enjoyed how efficient Victor is. She grips his left wrist as she holds his arm out, and Victor points to a space next to the five tallies above the bend of his elbow. Under the curve of his bicep and closer to the inner part of his arm. This one’s going to sting a little. 

“Point, but how’d they know who was doing it and why?” The first two cuts are quick, but she has to pause after the second tally to wipe the blood away so that she can see where to make the third line. 

“Because I sent the orchestrator of the network their heads.” Tallies three and four are quick as well, but she has to wipe away the blood again before making the fifth tally. “I left notes on their foreheads. Jim. Gordon. Is. Mine.”

“What about the fifth head?” The new grouping of tallies is all complete, so she gently cleans him up and then puts on one of the large white Band-Aids. She likes the multi-colored peace signs, but she’s running low. She’ll need to stock up again soon. She looks up at Victor after closing the first-aid kit, because he still hasn’t answered her question, and he raises his right arm. He spreads his fingers apart to make a _V_ and then draws a _Z_ in the air with his index finger, and she grabs his hand before he can drop it. 

“I also find creativity attractive,” she says as she laces their fingers together. Victor slides off the counter so that he’s standing in front of her, and she keeps her head tipped back so she can keep looking at him. 

“Tell me again how you taught that guy a lesson.” She shakes her hand until Victor frees her fingers, and she grabs his wrist instead as she bares her teeth up at him. 

“Take me to bed and I’ll show you.” Her laugh echoes in the bathroom as Victor drops down and slings her over his shoulder, and she lightly scratches her nails against the small of his back as he walks into the bedroom. She’s putting today in the win column.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Oswald is at Ed’s at the beginning of the chapter when he talks on the phone with Bex, and wasn’t that an interesting convo? It means that Bex is going to be working at Arkham before and during Oswald’s stay, under a different identity, and I am so excited to write all of the Arkham scenes!
> 
> Writing the quick altercation in the nightclub was so much for me! Because Bex is this short, non-threatening looking woman that will kick your ass if provoked. I love it when she’s violent. As for Quinn, I promise he’s not some random OC. Give me a few chapters and just who he is will become more obvious. (For anyone that’s curious, I picture Dylan O’Brien as Quinn.)
> 
> Who’s excited about Ivy officially moving in with Bex and Victor? Because I sure am! Obviously this is going to change some canon events, like the constant aging of Ivy, but I’m in love with this little misfit family and refuse to change it. 
> 
> A lot of things happened in this chapter, so I’d love to know your thoughts!


End file.
